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DEVIL  LORE 

ANTHOLOGIES  OF  DIABOLICAL  LITERATURE 
EDITED  BY  MAXIMILIAN  J.  RUDWIN 

L    DEVIL  STORIES 
[First  Series] 

In  Preparation: 
DEVIL  PLAYS 
DEVIL  ESSAYS 
DEVIL  LEGENDS 
THE  BOOK  OF  LADY  LILITH 
ANTHOLOGY  OF  SATANIC  VERSE 
BIBLIOGRAPHY  DIABOLICA 


I 

BOOKS  BY 
MAXIMILIAN  J.  RUDWIN 

The    Prophet    and    Disputation 
Scenes  in  the  Religious  Drama 
of  the  German  Middle  Ages. 

The  Devil  Scenes  in  the  Religious 
Drama  of  the  German  Middle 
Ages. 

The    Devil    m   the   German    Re- 
ligious   Plays    of    the    Middle 
Ages     and     the     Reformation. 
[Hesperia:      Johns      Hopkins 
Studies  in   Modem  Philology, 
No.  6.] 

The  Origin  of  the  German  Car- 
nival Comedy. 

In  Preparation: 

The    Devil    in    Modem    French 
Literature. 

- 

/ 

— .-- — 

DEVIL  STORIES 

AN  ANTHOLOGY 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED  WITH  INTRODUCTION 
AND  CRITICAL  COMMENTS 

By  MAXIMILIAN   J.    RUDWIN 


"Mortaly  mock  not  at  the  Devil, 
Life  is  short  and  soon  will  jail. 

And  the  'fire  everlasting 
Is  no  idle  fairy-tale'* 

—Heine. 


NEW  YORK 

ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF 

MCMXXI 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  Inc. 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATEii    OF    AMEBICA 


9zo 


TO 

ALL  STUDENTS  OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL 
IN  LITERATURE 


460487 


NOTE 

The  preparation  of  this  book  would  have  been  out  of 
the  question  without  the  co-operation  of  authors  and 
publishers.  Proper  acknowledgment  has  been  given  on 
the  first  page  of  each  selection  to  the  publishers  who 
have  granted  us  permission  to  reprint  it.  We  take  this 
opportunity  to  express  once  more  our  deep  appreciation 
of  the  courtesies  extended  to  us  by  all  the  parties  con- 
cerned in  the  material  between  the  covers  of  this  book. 
Special  thanks  are  offered  to  Mr.  John  Masefield  for 
his  permission  to  republish  his  story,  and  to  Messrs. 
Arthur  Symons  and  Leo  Wiener  and  to  Miss  Isabel  F. 
Hapgood  for  their  permission  to  use  their  translations  of 
the  foreign  stories  which  we  have  selected.  To  Profes- 
sor Henry  Alfred  Todd  and  Dr.  Dorothy  Scarborough, 
of  Columbia  University,  who  have  kindly  read  portions 
of  the  manuscript,  the  editor  is  indebted  for  a  number 
of  helpful  suggestions.  He  adds  his  thanks  to  Professor 
Raymond  Weeks,  also  of  Columbia  University,  who 
called  his  attention  to  the  Daudet  story,  and  to  his  former 
colleague.  Professor  Otto  A.  Greiner,  of  Purdue  Uni- 
versity, who  was  good  enough  to  read  part  of  the  proofs. 

The  Publisher. 
The  Editor. 


[vii] 


CONTENTS 

The  Devil  in  a  Nunnery  1 

A  Mediaeval  Tale      By  Francis  Oscar  Mann 

Belphagor,  or  the  Marriage  of  the  Devil  (1549)  14 

From  the  Italian  of  Niccolb  Machiavelli 

The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker  (1824)  28 

By  Washington  Irving 

From  the  Memoirs  of  Satan  (1828)  46 

Fr&m  the  German  of  Wilhelm  Hauff 

St.  John's  Eve  (1830)  56 

From  the  Russian  of  Nikolai  Vasilevich  Gogol 
Translated  by  Isabel  F.  Hapgood 

The  Devil's  Wager  (1833)  79 
By  William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

The  Painter's  Bargain  (1834)  93 

By  William  Makepeace  Thackeray 

Bon-Bon  (1835)   112 
By  Edgar  Allan  Poe 

The  Printer's  Devil  (1836)  136 

Anonymous 
The  Devil's  Mother-in-Law  (1859)   149 

From  the  Spanish  by  Ferndn  Caballero 
Translated  by  J.  H.  Ingram 

The  Generous  Gambler  (1864)  162  ^ 

From  the  French  of  Charles  Pierre  Baudelaire 
Translated  by  Arthur  Symons 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 


The  Three  Low  Masses  (1869)  167 

A  Christmas  Story       From  the  French  of  Alphonse  Daudet 
Translated  by  Robert  Routeledge 

Devil-Puzzlers  (1871)   179 

By  Frederick  Beecher  Perkins 

The  Devil's  Round  (1874)  203 

A  Tale  of  Flemish  Golf      From  the  French  of  Charles  Deulin 

Translated  by  Isabel  Bruce 

With  an  introductory  note  by  Andrew  Lang 

The  Legend  of  Mont  St.-Michel  (1888)  222 

From  the  French  of  Guy  de  Maupassant 

The  Demon  Pope  (1888)  228 

By  Richard  Garnett 

Madam  Lucifer  (1888)  242 
By  Richard  Garnett 

Lucifer  (1895)  250 

From  the  French  of  Anatole  France 
Translated  by  Alfred  Allinson 

The  Devil  (1899)  257 

From  the  Russian  of  Maxim  Gorky 
Translated  by  Leo   Wiener 

The  Devil  and  the  Old  Man  (1905)  268 

By  John  Masefield 

Notes  279 
Index  325 


[x] 


INTRODUCTION 

Of  all  the  myths  which  have  come  down  to  us  from 
the  East,  and  of  all  the  creations  of  Western  fancy  and 
belief,  the  Personality  of  Evil  has  had  the  strongest 
attraction  for  the  mind  of  man.  The  Devil  is  the  great- 
est enigma  that  has  ever  confronted  the  human  intel- 
ligence. So  large  a  place  has  Satan  taken  in  our 
imagination,  and  we  might  also  say  in  our  heart,  that 
his  expulsion  therefrom,  no  matter  what  philosophy  may 
teach  us,  must  for  ever  remain  an  impossibility.  As  a 
character  in  imaginative  literature  Lucifer  has  not  his 
equal  in  heaven  above  or  on  the  earth  beneath.  In  con- 
trast to  the  idea  of  Good,  which  is  the  more  exalted  in 
proportion  to  its  freedom  from  anthropomorphism,  the 
idea  of  Evil  owes  to  the  presence  of  this  element  its 
chief  value  as  a  poetic  theme.  The  discrowned  arch- 
angel may  have  been  inferior  to  St.  Michael  in  military 
tactics,  but  he  certainly  is  his  superior  in  matters 
literary.  The  fair  angels — all  frankness  and  good- 
ness— are  beyond  our  comprehension,  but  the  fallen 
angels,  with  all  their  faults  and  sufferings,  are  kin  to  us. 

There  is  a  legend  that  the  Devil  has  always  had 
literary  aspirations.  The  German  theosophist  Jacob 
Bohme  relates  that  when  Satan  was  asked  to  explain  the 
cause  of  God's  enmity  to  him  and  his  consequent  down- 
fall, he  replied:  "I  wanted  to  be  an  author." 
Whether  or  not  the  Devil  has  ever  written  anything 
over  his  own  signature,  he  has  certainly  helped  others 

[xi] 


INTRODUCTION 


compose  their  greatest  works.  It  is  a  significant  fact 
that  the  greatest  imaginations  have  discerned  an  attrac- 
tion in  Diabolus.  What  would  the  world's  literature  be 
if  from  it  we  eliminated  Dante's  Divine  Comedy,  Cal- 
deron's  Marvellous  Magician,  Milton's  Paradise  Lost, 
Goethe's  Faust,  Byron's  Cain,  Vigny's  Eloa,  and  Ler- 
montov's  Demon?  Sorry  indeed  would  have  been  the 
plight  of  literature  without  a  judicious  admixture  of  the 
Diabolical.  Without  the  Devil  there  would  simply  be 
no  literature,  because  without  his  intervention  there 
would  be  no  plot,  and  without  a  plot  the  story  of  the 
world  would  lose  its  interest.  Even  now,  when  the  be- 
lief in  the  Devil  has  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  when  the 
very  mention  of  his  name,  far  from  causing  men  to  cross 
themselves,  brings  a  smile  to  their  faces,  Satan  has  con- 
tinued to  be  a  puissant  personage  in  the  realm  of  letters. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Beelzebub  has  perhaps  received  his 
greatest  elaboration  at  the  hands  of  writers  who  be- 
lieved in  him  just  as  little  as  Shakespeare  did  in  the 
ghost  of  Hamlet's  father. 

Commenting  on  Anatole  France's  The  Revolt  of  the 
Angels,  an  American  critic  has  recently  written:  "It 
is  difficult  to  rehabilitate  Beelzebub,  not  because  people 
are  of  one  mind  concerning  Beelzebub,  but  because 
they  are  of  no  mind  at  all."  How  this  demon  must 
have  laughed  when  he  read  these  lines!  Why,  he  needs 
no  rehabilitation.  The  Devil  has  never  been  absent 
from  the  world  of  letters,  just  as  he  has  never  been 
missing  from  the  world  of  men.  Since  the  days  of 
Job,  Satan  has  taken  a  deep  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the 
human  race;  and  while  most  writers  content  themselves 

[xii] 


INTRODUCTION 


with  recording  his  activities  on  this  planet,  there  never 
have  been  lacking  men  of  sufficient  courage  to  call  upon 
the  prince  of  darkness  in  his  proper  dominions  in  order 
to  bring  back  to  us,  for  our  instruction  and  edification, 
a  report  of  his  work  there.  The  most  distinguished 
poet  his  infernal  Highness  has  ever  entertained  at  his 
court,  it  will  be  recalled,  was  Dante.  The  mark  which 
the  scorching  fires  of  hell  left  on  Dante's  face,  was  to 
his  contemporaries  sufficient  proof  of  the  truth  of  his 
storv. 

The  subject-matter  of  literature  may  always  have 
been  in  a  state  of  flux,  but  the  Devil  has  been  present 
in  all  the  stages  of  literary  evolution.  All  schools  of 
literature  in  all  ages  and  in  all  languages  set  them- 
selves, whether  consciously  or  unconsciously,  to  repre- 
sent and  interpret  the  Devil,  and  each  school  has  treated 
him  in  its  own  characteristic  manner. 

The  Devil  is  an  old  character  in  literature.  Perhaps 
he  is  as  old  as  literature  itself.  He  is  encountered  in 
the  story  of  the  paradisiacal  sojourn  of  our  first  ances- 
tors, and  from  that  day  on,  Satan  has  appeared  unfail- 
ingly, in  various  forms  and  with  various  functions,  in 
all  the  literatures  of  the  world.  His  person  and  his 
power  continued  to  develop  and  to  multiply  with  the 
advance  of  the  centuries,  so  that  in  the  Middle  Ages 
the  world  fairly  pullulated  with  demons.  From  his 
minor  place  in  the  biblical  books,  the  Devil  grew  to  a 
position  of  paramount  importance  in  mediaeval  liter- 
ature. The  Reformation,  v/hich  was  a  movement  of 
progress  in  so  many  respects,  left  his  position  intact. 
Indeed,  it  rather  increased  his  power  by  withdrawing 

[xiii] 


INTRODUCTION 


from  the  saints  the  right  of  intercession  in  behalf  of 
the  sinners.  Neither  the  Renaissance  of  ancient  learn- 
ing nor  the  institution  of  modern  science  could  prevail 
against  Satan.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  growth  of  the 
interest  in  the  Devil  has  been  on  a  level  with  the  de- 
velopment of  the  spirit  of  philosophical  inquiry. 
French  classicism,  to  be  sure,  occasioned  a  setback  for 
our  hero.  As  a  member  of  the  Christian  hierarchy  of 
supernatural  personages,  the  Devil  could  not  help  but 
be  affected  by  the  ban  under  which  Boileau  placed 
Christian  supematuralism.  But  even  the  eighteenth 
century,  a  period  so  inimical  to  the  Supernatural,  pro- 
duced two  master-devils  in  fiction:  Le  Sage's  Asmo- 
deus  and  Cazotte's  Beelzebub — worthy  members  of  the 
august  company  of  literary  Devils. 

But  as  if  to  make  amends  for  its  long  lack  of  ap- 
preciation of  the  Devil's  literary  possibilities,  France, 
in  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,  brought 
about  a  distinct  reaction  in  his  favour.  The  sympathy 
extended  by  that  country  of  revolutionary  progress  to 
all  victims  and  to  all  rebels,  whether  individuals  or 
classes  or  nations,  could  not  well  be  denied  to  the  celes- 
tial outlaw.  The  fighters  for  political,  social,  intellec- 
tual, and  emotional  liberty  on  earth,  could  not  withhold 
their  admiration  from  the  angel  who  demanded  free- 
dom of  thought  and  independence  of  action  in  heaven. 
The  rebel  of  the  Empyrean  was  hailed  as  the  first  martyr 
in  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  his  rehabilitation  in  heaven 
was  demanded  by  the  rebels  on  earth.  Satan  became 
the  symbol  of  the  restless,  hapless  nineteenth  century. 
Through  his  mouth  that  age  uttered  its  protest  against 

[xiv] 


INTRODUCTION 


the  monarchs  of  heaven  and  earth.  The  Romantic  gen- 
eration of  1830  thought  the  world  more  than  ever  out 
of  joint,  and  who  was  better  fitted  than  the  Devil  to  ex- 
press their  dissatisfaction  with  the  celestial  govern- 
ment of  terrestrial  affairs?  Satan  is  the  eternal  Malcon- 
tent. To  Hamlet,  Denmark  seemed  gloomy;  to  Satan, 
the  whole  world  appears  dark.  The  admiration  of  the 
Romanticists  for  Satan  was  mixed  with  pity  and  sym- 
pathy— so  much  his  melancholy  endeared  him  to  their 
sympathies,  so  kindred  it  seemed  to  their  human  weak- 
ness. The  Romanticists  felt  a  deep  admiration  for 
solitary  grandeur.  This  "knight  of  the  doleful  coun- 
tenance," laden  with  a  curse  and  drawing  misfortune 
in  his  train,  was  the  ideal  Romantic  hero.  Was  he  not 
indeed  the  original  beau  tenebreux?  Thus  Satan  be- 
came the  typical  figure  of  that  period  and  its  poetry. 
It  has  been  well  remarked  that  if  Satan  had  not  existed, 
the  Romanticists  would  have  invented  him.  The  Devil's 
influence  on  the  Romantic  School  was  so  strong  and  so 
sustained  that  soon  it  was  named  after  him.  The  terms 
Romantic  and  Satanic  came  to  be  wellnigh  synonymous. 
The  interest  which  the  French  Romanticists  showed  in 
the  Devil,  moreover,  passed  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
France  and  the  limits  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The 
Symbolists,  for  whom  the  mysteries  of  Erebus  had  a 
potent  attraction,  were  simply  obsessed  by  Satan.  But 
even  the  Naturalists,  who  certainly  were  not  haunted  by 
phantoms,  often  succumbed  to  his  charms.  Foreign 
writers  turning  for  inspiration  to  France,  where  the  lit- 
erature of  the  last  century  reached  its  highest  perfection, 
were  also  caught  in  the  French  enthusiasm  for  the  Devil. 

[XV] 


INTRODUCTION 


Needless  to  say  that  this  Devil  is  not  the  evil  spirit  of 
mediaeval  dogma.  The  Romantic  Devil  is  an  altogether 
new  species  of  the  genus  diaboli.  There  are  fashions 
in  Devils  as  in  dresses,  and  what  is  a  Devil  in  one 
country  or  one  century  may  not  pass  muster  in  another. 
It  is  related  that  after  the  glory  of  Greece  had  departed, 
a  mariner,  voyaging  along  her  coast  by  night,  heard 
from  the  woods  the  cry:  "  Great  Pan  is  dead!  "  But 
Pan  was  not  dead;  he  had  fallen  asleep  to  awake  again 
as  Satan.  In  like  manner,  when  the  eighteenth  century 
believed  Satan  to  be  dead,  he  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
only  recuperating  his  energies  for  a  fresh  start  in  a  new 
form.  His  new  avatar  was  Prometheus.  Satan  con- 
tinued to  be  the  enemy  of  God,  but  he  was  no  longer 
the  enemy  of  man.  Instead  of  a  demon  of  darkness  he 
became  a  god  of  grace.  This  champion  of  celestial 
combat  was  not  actuated  by  hatred  and  envy  of  man, 
as  Christianity  was  thought  to  teach  us,  but  by  love  and 
pity  for  humankind.  The.  strongest  expression  of  this 
idea  of  the  Devil  in  modem  literature  has  been  given 
by  August  Strindberg,  whose  Lucifer  is  a  compound  of 
Prometheus,  Apollo  and  Christ.  However,  this  interpre- 
tation of  the  Devil,  whatever  value  it  may  have  from  the 
point  of  view  of  originality,  is  aesthetically  as  well  as 
theologically  not  acceptable.  Such  a  revaluation  of  an 
old  value  offends  our  intellect  while  it  touches  our  heart. 
,  All  successful  treatment  of  the  Devil  in  literature  and 
I  art  must  be  made  to  correspond  with  the  norm  of  popu- 
lar belief.  In  art  we  are  all  orthodox,  whatever  our 
views  may  be  in  religion.  This  new  conception  of  Satan 
will  be  found  chiefly  in  poetry,  while  the  popular  con- 

[xvi] 


INTRODUCTION 


cept  has  been  continued  in  prose.  But  even  here  a 
gradual  evolution  of  the  idea  of  the  Devil  will  be  ob- 
served. The  nineteenth  century  Demon  is  an  improve- 
ment on  his  confrere  of  the  thirteenth.  He  differs  from 
his  older  brother  as  a  cultivated  flower  from  a  wild  blos- 
som. The  Devil  as  a  human  projection  is  bound  to 
partake  in  the  progress  of  human  thought.  Says 
Mephistopheles : 

"Culture,  which  the  whole  world  licks, 
Also  unto  the  Devil  sticks." 

The  Devil  advances  with  the  progress  of  civilization, 
because  he  is  what  men  make  him.  He  has  benefited  by 
the  modern  levelling  tendency  in  characterization.  Now- 
adays supernatural  personages,  like  their  human  cre- 
ators, are  no  longer  painted  either  as  wholly  white  or  as 
wholly  black,  but  in  various  shades  of  grey.  The  Devil, 
as  Renan  has  aptly  remarked,  has  chiefly  benefited  by 
this  relativist  point  of  view.  The  Spirit  of  Evil  is  better 
than  he  was,  because  evil  is  no  longer  so  bad  as  it  was. 
Satan,  even  in  the  popular  mind,  is  no  longer  a  villain 
of  the  deepest  dye.  At  his  worst  he  is  the  general  mis- 
chief-maker of  the  universe,  who  loves  to  stir  up  the 
earth  with  his  pitch-fork.  In  modem  literature  the  Dev- 
il's chief  function  is  that  of  a  satirist.  This  fine  critic 
directs  the  shafts  of  his  sarcasm  against  all  the  faults 
and  foibles  of  men.  He  spares  no  human  institution. 
In  religion,  art,  society,  marriage — everywhere  his 
searching  eye  can  detect  the  weak  spots.  The  latest  dem- 
onstration of  the  Devil's  ability  as  a  satirist  of  men 
and  morals  is  furnished  by  Mark  Twain  in  his  posthu- 
mous romance  The  Mysterious  Stranger, 

[xvii] 


INTRODUCTION 


The  Devil  Lore  Series,  which  opens  with  this  book 
of  Devil  Stories,  is  to  serve  as  documentary  evidence  of 
man's  abiding  interest  in  the  Devil.  It  will  be  a  sort 
of  portrait-gallery  of  the  literary  delineations  of  Satan. 
The  Anthologies  of  Diabolical  Literature  may  be  con- 
sidered, I  trust,  without  any  risk  of  offence  to  any  theo- 
logical or  philosophical  prepossession.  To  those  alike 
who  accept  and  who  reject  the  belief  in  the  Devil's  spir- 
itual entity  apart  from  man's,  there  must  be  profit  and 
pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of  his  literary  incarna- 
tions. As  regards  the  Devil's  fitness  as  a  literary  char- 
acter, all  intelligent  men  and  women,  believers  and  un- 
believers, may  be  assumed  to  have  but  one  opinion. 

This  Series  is  wholly  devoted  to  the  Christian  Devil 
with  the  total  disregard  of  his  cousins  in  the  other  faiths. 
There  will,  however,  be  found  a  strong  Jewish  element 
in  Christian  demonology.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  our  literature  has  become  saturated  through  Chris- 
tian channels  with  the  traditions  of  the  parent  creed. 

This  collection  has  been  limited  to  twenty  tales. 
Within  the  bounds  thus  set,  an  effort  has  been  made  to 
have  this  book  as  representative  of  national  and  indi- 
vidual conceptions  of  the  Devil  as  possible.  The  tales 
have  been  taken  from  many  times  and  tongues.  Selec- 
tion has  been  made  not  only  among  writers,  but  also 
among  the  stories  of  each  writer.  In  two  instances, 
however,  where  the  choice  was  not  so  easy,  an  author  is 
represented  by  two  specimens  from  his  pen. 

The  stories  have  been  arranged  in  chronological  order 
to  show  the  constant  and  continuous  appeal  on  the  part  of 
the  Devil  to  our  story-writers.     The  mediaeval  tale,  al- 

[xviii] 


INTRODUCTION 


though  published  last,  was  placed  first.  For  obvious 
reasons,  this  story  has  not  been  given  in  its  original 
form,  but  in  its  modernized  version.  While  this  is  not 
meant  to  be  a  nursery-book,  it  has  been  made  virginihus 
puerisque,  and  for  this  reason,  selections  from  Boccaccio, 
Rabelais  and  Balzac  could  not  find  their  way  into  these 
pages.  Moreover,  as  this  volume  was  limited  to  narra- 
tives in  prose,  devil's  tales  in  verse  by  Chaucer,  Hans 
Sachs  and  La  Fontaine  could  not  be  considered,  either. 
Nevertheless  this  collection  is  sufficiently  comprehensive 
to  please  all  tastes  in  Devils.  The  reader  will  find  be- 
tween the  covers  of  this  book  Devils  fascinating  and  fear- 
ful. Devils  powerful  and  picturesque.  Devils  serious  and 
humorous.  Devils  pathetic  and  comic,  Devils  phantastic 
and  satiric.  Devils  gruesome  and  grotesque.  I  have 
tried,  though,  to  keep  them  all  in  good  humour  through- 
out the  book,  and  can  accordingly  assure  the  reader  that 
he  need  fear  no  harm  from  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  diabolical  company  to  which  he  is  herewith  in- 
troduced. 


Maximilian  J.  Rudwin. 


[xix] 


THE    DEVIL    IN   A    NUNNERY^ 
BY    FRANCIS    OSCAR    MANN 

Buckingham  is  as  pleasant  a  shire  as  a  man  shall  see 
on  a  seven  days'  journey.  Neither  was  it  any  less  pleas- 
ant in  the  days  of  our  Lord  King  Edward,  the  third  of 
that  name,  he  who  fought  and  put  the  French  to  shame- 
ful discomfiture  at  Crecy  and  Poitiers  and  at  many  an- 
other hard-fought  field.  May  God  rest  his  soul,  for  he 
now  sleeps  in  the  great  Church  at  Westminster. 

Buckinghamshire  is  full  of  smooth  round  hills  and 
woodlands  of  hawthorn  and  beech,  and  it  is  a  famous 
country  for  its  brooks  and  shaded  waterways  running 
through  the  low  hay  meadows.  Upon  its  hills  feed  a 
thousand  sheep,  scattered  like  the  remnants  of  the  spring 
snow,  and  it  was  from  these  that  the  merchants  made 
themselves  fat  purses,  sending  the  wool  into  Flanders  in 
exchange  for  silver  crowns.  There  were  many  strong 
castles  there  too,  and  rich  abbeys,  and  the  King's  High- 
way ran  through  it  from  North  to  South,  upon  which  the 
pilgrims  went  in  crowds  to  worship  at  the  Shrine  of  the 
Blessed  Saint  Alban.  Thereon  also  rode  noble  knights 
and  stout  men-at-arms,  and  these  you  could  follow  with 
the  eye  by  their  glistening  armour,  as  they  wound  over 
hill  and  dale,  mile  after  mile,  with  shining  spears  and 

1  Taken  by  permission  from  The  Devil  in  a  Nunnery  and  other 
Mediaeval  Tales,  by  Francis  Oscar  Mann,  published  by  P.  Button  & 
Company,  New  York,  1914. 

[1] 


DEVIT.     STORIES 


shields  and  fluttering  pennons,  and  anon  a  trumpet  or 
two  sounding  the  same  keen  note  as  that  which  rang  out 
dreadfully  on  those  bloody  fields  of  France.  The  girls 
used  to  come  to  the  cottage  doors  or  run  to  hide  them- 
selves in  the  wayside  woods  to  see  them  go  trampling  by; 
for  Buckinghamshire  girls  love  a  soldier  above  all  men. 
Nor,  I  warrant  you,  were  jolly  friars  lacking  in  the 
highways  and  the  by-ways  and  under  the  hedges,  good 
men  of  religion,  comfortable  of  penance  and  easy  of 
life,  who  could  tip  a  wink  to  a  housewife,  and  drink  and 
crack  a  joke  with  the  good  man,  going  on  their  several 
ways  with  tight  paunches,  skins  full  of  ale  and  a  merry 
salutation  for  every  one.  A  fat  pleasant  land  was 
this  Buckinghamshire;  always  plenty  to  eat  and  drink 
therein,  and  pretty  girls  and  lusty  fellows;  and  God 
knows  what  more  a  man  can  expect  in  a  world  where  all 
is  vanity,  as  the  Preacher  truly  says. 

There  was  a  nunnery  at  Maids  Moreton,  two  miles  out 
from  Buckingham  Borough,  on  the  road  to  Stony  Strat- 
ford, and  the  place  was  called  Maids  Moreton  because 
of  the  nunnery.  Very  devout  creatures  were  the  nuns, 
being  holy  ladies  out  of  families  of  gentle  blood.  They 
punctually  fulfilled  to  the  letter  all  the  commands  of 
the  pious  founder,  just  as  they  were  blazoned  on  the 
great  parchment  Regula,  which  the  Lady  Mother  kept 
on  her  reading-desk  in  her  little  cell.  If  ever  any  of 
the  nuns,  by  any  chance  or  subtle  machination  of  the 
Evil  One,  was  guilty  of  the  smallest  backsliding  from 
the  conduct  that  beseemed  them,  they  made  full  and 
devout  confession  thereof  to  the  Holy  Father  who  visited 
them  for  this  purpose.     This  good  man  loved  swan's 

[2] 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

meat  and  galingale,  and  the  charitable  nuns  never  failed 
to  provide  of  their  best  for  him  on  his  visiting  days;  and 
whatsoever  penance  he  laid  upon  them  they  performed 
to  the  utmost,  and  with  due  contrition  of  heart. 

From  Matins  to  Compline  they  regularly  and  decently 
carried  out  the  services  of  Holy  Mother  Church.  After 
dinner,  one  read  aloud  to  them  from  the  Rule,  and  again 
after  supper  there  was  reading  from  the  life  of  some 
notable  Saint  or  Virgin,  that  thereby  they  might  find  en- 
sample  for  themselves  on  their  own  earthly  pilgrimage. 
For  the  rest,  they  tended  their  herb  garden,  reared  their 
chickens,  which  were  famous  for  miles  around,  and  kept 
strict  watch  over  their .Jiaywards  and  swineherds.  If 
time  was  when  they  had  nothing  more  important  on 
hand,  they  set  to  and  made  the  prettiest  blood  bandages 
imaginable  for  the  Bishop,  the  Bishop's  Chaplain,  the 
Archdeacon,  the  neighbouring  Abbot  and  other  godly 
men  of  religion  round  about,  who  were  forced  often  to 
bleed  themselves  for  their  health's  sake  and  their  eternal 
salvation,  so  that  these  venerable  men  in  process  of  time 
came  to  have  by  them  great  chests  full  of  these  useful 
articles.  If  little  tongues  wagged  now  and  then  as  the 
sisters  sat  at  their  sewing  in  the  great  hall,  who  shall 
blame  them,  Eva  peccatrice?  Not  I;  besides,  some  of 
them  were  something  stricken  in  years,  and  old  women 
are  garrulous  and  hard  to  be  constrained  from  chatter- 
ing and  gossiping.  But  being  devout  women  they  could 
have  spoken  no  evil. 

One  evening  after  Vespers  all  these  good  nuns  sat  at 
supper,  the  Abbess  on  her  high  dais  and  the  nuns  ranged 
up  and  down  the  hall  at  the  long  trestled  tables.     The 

[3] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


Abbess  had  just  said  ''Gratias''  and  the  sisters  had  sung 
*'Qui  vivit  et  regnat  per  omnia  saecula  saeculoruniy 
Amen/'  when  in  came  the  Manciple  mysteriously,  and, 
with  many  deprecating  bows  and  outstretchings  of  the 
hands,  sidled  himself  up  upon  the  dais,  and,  permis- 
sion having  been  given  him,  spoke  to  the  Lady  Mother 
thus:  1 

"Madam,  there  is  a  certain  pilgrim  at  the  gate  who 
asks  refreshment  and  a  night's  lodging."  It  is  true  he 
spoke  softly,  but  little  pink  ears  are  sharp  of  hearing,  and 
nuns,  from  their  secluded  way  of  life,  love  to  hear  news 
of  the  great  world. 

"Send  him  away,"  said  the  Abbess.  "It  is  not  fit 
that  a  man  should  lie  within  this  house." 

"Madam,  he  asks  food  and  a  bed  of  straw  lest  he 
should  starve  of  hunger  and  exhaustion  on  his  way  to 
do  penance  and  worship  at  the  Holy  Shrine  of  the 
Blessed  Saint  Alban." 

"What  kind  of  pilgrim  is  he?" 

"Madam,  to  speak  truly,  I  know  not;  but  he  appears 
of  a  reverend  and  gracious  aspect,  a  young  man  well 
spoken  and  well  disposed.  Madam  knows  it  waxeth 
late,  and  the  ways  are  dark  and  foul." 

"I  would  not  have  a  young  man,  who  is  given  to  pil- 
grimages and  good  works,  to  faint  and  starve  by  the 
wayside.     Let  him  sleep  with  the  haywards." 

"  But,  Madam,  he  is  a  young  man  of  goodly  appear- 
ance and  conversation;  saving  your  reverence,  I  would 
not  wish  to  ask  him  to  eat  and  sleep  with  churls." 

"He  must  sleep  without^  Let  him,  however,  enter 
and  eat  of  our  poor  table." 

[4] 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

"Madam,  I  will  strictly  enjoin  him  what  you  com- 
mand. He  hath  with  him,  however,  an  instrument  of 
music  and  would  fain  cheer  you  with  spiritual  songs." 

A  little  shiver  of  anticipation  ran  down  the  benches 
of  the  great  hall,  and  the  nuns  fell  to  whispering. 

"Take  care,  Sir  Manciple,  that  he  be  not  some  light 
juggler,  a  singer  of  vain  songs,  a  mocker.  I  would  not 
have  these  quiet  halls  disturbed  by  wanton  music  and 
unholy  words.     God  forbid."     And  she  crossed  herself. 

"Madam,  I  will  answer  for  it." 

The  Manciple  bowed  himself  from  the  dais  and  went 
down  the  middle  of  the  hall,  his  keys  rattling  at  his  belt. 
A  little  buzz  of  conversation  rose  from  the  sisters  and 
went  up  to  the  oak  roof -trees,  like  the  singing  of  bees. 
The  Abbess  told  her  beads. 

The  hall  door  opened  and  in  came  the  pilgrim.  God 
knows  what  manner  of  man  he  was;  I  cannot  tell  you. 
He  certainly  was  lean  and  lithe  like  a  cat,  his  eyes 
danced  in  his  head  like  the  very  devil,  but  his  cheeks 
and  jaws  were  as  bare  of  flesh  as  any  hermit's  that  lives 
on  roots  and  ditchwater.  His  yellow-hosed  legs  went 
like  the  tune  of  a  May  game,  and  he  screwed  and  twisted 
his  scarlet-jerkined  body  in  time  with  them.  In  his  left 
hand  he  held  a  cithern,  on  which  he  twanged  with  his 
right,  making  a  cunning  noise  that  titillated  the  back- 
bones of  those  who  heard  it,  and  teased  every  delicate 
nerve  in  the  body.  Such  a  tune  would  have  tickled  the 
ribs  of  Death  himself.  A  queer  fellow  to  go  pilgrim- 
aging certainly,  but  why,  when  they  saw  him,  all  the 
young  nuns  tittered  and  the  old  nuns  grinned,  until  they 
showed  their  red  gums,  it  is  hard  to  tell.     Even  the 

[5] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


Lady  Mother  on  the  dais  smiled,  though  she  tried  to 
frown  a  moment  later. 

The  pilgrim  stepped  lightly  up  to  the  dais,  the  in- 
fernal devil  in  his  legs  making  the  nuns  think  of  the 
games  the  village  folk  play  all  night  in  the  churchyard 
on  Saint  John's  Eve. 

"Gracious  Mother,"  he  cried,  bowing  deeply  and  in 
comely  wise,  "allow  a  poor  pilgrim  on  his  way  to  con- 
fess and  do  penance  at  the  shrine  of  Saint  Alban  to  take 
food  in  your  hall,  and  to  rest  with  the  haywards  this 
night,  and  let  me  thereof  make  some  small  recompense 
with  a  few  sacred  numbers,  such  as  your  pious  founder 
would  not  have  disdained  to  hear." 

"Young  man,"  returned  the  Abbess,  "right  glad  am 
I  to  hear  that  God  has  moved  thy  heart  to  godly  works 
and  to  go  on  pilgrimages,  and  verily  I  wish  it  may  be  to 
thy  soul's  health  and  to  the  respite  of  thy  pains  here- 
after. I  am  right  willing  that  thou  shouldst  refresh 
thyself  with  meat  and  rest  at  this  holy  place." 

"Madam,  I  thank  thee  from  my  heart,  but  as  some 
slight  token  of  gratitude  for  so  large  a  favour,  let  me, 
I  pray  thee,  sing  one  or  two  of  mv  divine  songs,  to  the 
uplifting  of  these  holy  Sisters'  hearts." 

Another  burst  of  chatter,  louder  than  before,  from 
the  benches  in  the  hall.  One  or  two  of  the  younger  Sis- 
ters clapped  their  plump  white  hands  and  cried,  "Oh!" 
The  Lady  Abbess  held  up  her  hand  for  silence. 

"Verily,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  some  sweet  songs 
of  religion,  and  I  think  it  would  be  to  the  uplifting  of 
these  Sisters'  hearts.  But,  young  man,  take  warning 
against  singing  any  wanton  lines  of  vain  imagination, 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

such  as  the  ribalds  use  on  the  highways,  and  the  idlers 
and  haunters  of  taverns.  I  have  heard  them  in  my 
youth,  although  my  ears  tingle  to  think  of  them  now, 
and  I  should  think  it  shame  that  any  such  light  words 
should  echo  among  these  sacred  rafters  or  disturb  the 
slumber  of  our  pious  founder,  who  now  sleeps  in  Christ. 
Let  me  remind  you  of  what  saith  Saint  Jeremie,  Onager 
solitarius,  in  desiderio  animae  suae,  attraxit  ventum 
amoris;  the  wild  ass  of  the  wilderness,  in  the  desire  of 
his  heart,  snuff eth  up  the  wind  of  love;  whereby  that 
holy  man  signifies  that  vain  earthly  love,  which  is  but 
wind  and  air,  and  shall  avail  nothing  at  all,  when  this 
weak,  impure  flesh  is  sloughed  away." 

"Madam,  such  songs  as  I  shall  sing,  I  learnt  at  the 
mouth  of  our  holy  parish  priest,  Sir  Thomas,  a  man  of 
all  good  learning  and  purity  of  heart." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  Abbess,  "sing  in  God's  name, 
but  stand  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  for  it  suits  not  the  dig- 
nity of  my  office  a  man  should  stand  so  near  this  dais." 

Whereon  the  pilgrim,  making  obeisance,  went  to  the 
end  of  the  hall,  and  the  eyes  of  all  the  nuns  danced  after 
his  dancing  legs,  and  their  ears  hung  on  the  clear,  sweet 
notes  he  struck  out  of  his  cithern  as  he  walked.  He  took 
his  place  with  his  back  against  the  great  hall  door,  in 
such  attitude  as  men  use  when  they  play  the  cithern.  A 
little  trembling  ran  through  the  nuns,  and  some  rose 
from  their  seats  and  knelt  on  the  benches,  leaning  over 
the  table,  the  better  to  see  and  hear  him.  Their  eyes 
sparkled  like  dew  on  meadowsweet  on  a  fair  morning. 

Certainly  his  fingers  were  bewitched  or  else  the  devil 
was  in  his  cithern,  for  such  sweet  sounds  had  never  been 

[7] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


heard  in  the  hall  since  the  day  when  it  was  built  and 
consecrated  to  the  service  of  the  servants  of  God.  The 
shrill  notes  fell  like  a  tinkling  rain  from  the  high  roof 
in  mad,  fantastic  trills  and  dying  falls  that  brought  all 
one's  soul  to  one's  lips  to  suck  them  in.  What  he  sang 
about,  God  only  knows ;  not  one  of  the  nuns  or  even  the 
holy  Abbess  herself  could  have  told  you,  although  you 
had  offered  her  a  piece  of  the  True  Cross  or  a  hair  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin  for  a  single  word.  But  a  divine 
yearning  filled  all  their  hearts;  they  seemed  to  hear  ten 
thousand  thousand  angels  singing  in  choruses.  Alleluia, 
Alleluia,  Alleluia;  they  floated  up  on  impalpable  clouds 
of  azure  and  silver,  up  through  the  blissful  paradises 
of  the  uppermost  heaven;  their  nostrils  were  filled  with 
the  odours  of  exquisite  spices  and  herbs  and  smoke  of 
incense;  their  eyes  dazzled  at  splendours  and  lights  and 
glories;  their  ears  were  full  of  gorgeous  harmonies  and 
all  created  concords  of  sweet  sounds;  the  very  fibres  of 
being  were  loosened  within  them,  as  though  their  souls 
would  leap  forth  from  their  bodies  in  exquisite  dissolu- 
tion. The  eyes  of  the  younger  nuns  grew  round  and 
large  and  tender,  and  their  breath  almost  died  upon 
their  velvet  lips.  As  for  the  old  nuns,  the  great,  salt 
tears  coursed  down  their  withered  cheeks  and  fell  like 
rain  on  their  gnarled  hands.  The  Abbess  sat  on  her 
dais  with  her  lips  apart,  looking  into  space,  ten  thou- 
sand thousand  miles  away.  But  no  one  saw  her  and  she 
saw  no  one;  every  one  had  forgotten  every  one  else  in 
that  delicious  intoxication. 

Then  with  a  shrill  cry,  full  of  human  yearnings  and 
desire,  the  minstrel  came  to  a  sudden  stop — 

[8] 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

"Western  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blow, 
And  the  small  rain  will  down  rain? 

Christ,  if  my  love  were  in  my  arms, 
And  I  in  my  bed  again." 

Silence! — not  one  of  the  holy  Sisters  spoke,  but  some 
sighed;  some  put  their  hands  over  their  hearts,  and  one 
put  her  hand  in  her  hood,  but  when  she  felt  her  hair 
shorn  close  to  her  scalp,  drew  it  out  again  sharply,  as 
though  she  had  touched  red-hot  iron,  and  cried,  "0 
Jesu." 

Sister  Peronelle,  a  toothless  old  woman,  began  to 
speak  in  a  cracked,  high  voice,  quickly  and  monoto- 
nously, as  though  she  spoke  in  a  dream.  Her  eyes  were 
wet  and  red,  and  her  thin  lips  trembled.  "God  knows," 
she  said,  "I  loved  him;  God  knows  it.  But  I  bid  all 
those  who  be  maids  here,  to  be  mindful  of  the  woods. 
For  they  are  green,  but  they  are  deep  and  dark,  and  it  is 
merry  in  the  springtime  with  the  thick  turf  below  and 
the  good  boughs  above,  all  alone  with  your  heart's  dar- 
ling— all  alone  in  the  green  wood.  But  God  help  me, 
he  would  not  stay  any  more  than  snow  at  Easter.  I 
thought  just  now  that  I  was  back  with  him  in  the  woods. 
God  keep  all  those  that  be  maids  from  the  green  woods." 

The  pretty  Sister  Ursula,  who  had  only  just  finished 
her  novitiate,  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  Her  breath  came 
thickly  and  quick  as  though  she  bore  a  great  burden  up 
hill.  A  great  sigh  made  her  comely  shoulders  rise  and 
fall.  "Blessed  Virgin,"  she  cried.  "Ah,  ye  ask  too 
much;  I  did  not  know;  God  help  me,  I  did  not  know," 
and  her  grey  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears,  and  she 

[9] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


dropped  her  head  on  her  arms  on  the  table,  and  sobbed 
aloud. 

Then  cried  out  Sister  Katherine,  who  looked  as  old 
and  dead  as  a  twig  dropped  from  a  tree  of  last  autumn, 
and  at  whom  the  younger  Sisters  privily  mocked,  "It 
is  the  wars,  the  wars,  the  cursed  wars.  I  have  held  his 
head  in  this  lap,  I  tell  you;  I  have  kissed  his  soul  into 
mine.  But  now  he  lies  dead,  and  his  pretty  limbs  all 
dropped  away  into  earth.  Holy  Mother,  have  pity  on 
me.  I  shall  never  kiss  his  sweet  lips  again  or  look  into 
his  jolly  eyes.  My  heart  is  broken  long  since.  Holy 
Mother!     Holy  Mother!" 

"He  must  come  oftener,"  said  a  plump  Sister  of 
thirty,  with  a  little  nose  turned  up  at  the  end,  eyes  black 
as  sloes  and  lips  round  as  a  plum.  "I  go  to  the  orchard 
day  after  day,  and  gather  my  lap  full  of  apples.  He  is 
my  darling.  Why  does  he  not  come?  I  look  for  him 
every  time  that  I  gather  the  ripe  apples.  He  used  to 
come;  but  that  was  in  the  spring,  and  Our  Lady  knows 
that  is  long  ago.  Will  it  not  be  spring  again  soon?  I 
have  gathered  many  ripe  apples." 

Sister  Margarita  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  her 
seat  and  crossed  her  arms  on  her  breast.  She  was  sing- 
ing quietly  to  herself. 

"  Lulla,  lullay,  thou  tiny  little  child, 

Lulla,  lullay,  lullay; 
Suck  at  my  breast  that  am  thereat  beguiled., 

Lulla,  lullay,  lullay." 

She  moaned  to  herself,  "I  have  seen  the  village  women 
go  to  the  well,  carrying  their  babies  with  them,  and  they 

[10] 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

laugh  as  they  go  by  on  the  way.  Their  babies  hold 
them  tight  round  the  neck,  and  their  mothers  comfort 
them,  saying,  'Hey,  hey,  my  little  son;  hey,  hey,  my 
sweeting.'  Christ  and  the  blessed  Saints  know  that 
I  have  never  felt  a  baby's  little  hand  in  my  bosom — and 
now  I  shall  die  without  it,  for  I  am  old  and  past  the  age 
of  bearing  children. 

"  Lulla,  lullay,  thou  tiny  little  boy, 

Lulla,  lullay,  lullay; 
To  feel  thee  suck  doth  soothe  my  great  annoy, 

Lulla,  lullay,  lullay." 

"I  have  heard  them  on  a  May  morning,  with  their 
pipes  and  tabors  and  jolly,  jolly  music,"  cried  Sister 
Helen;  "I  have  seen  them  too,  and  my  heart  has  gone 
with  them  to  bring  back  the  white  hawthorn  from  the 
woods.  'A  man  and  a  maid  to  a  hawthorn  bough,'  as 
it  says  in  the  song.  They  sing  outside  my  window  all 
Saint  John's  Eve  so  that  I  cannot  say  my  prayers  for 
the  wild  thoughts  they  put  into  my  brain,  as  they  go 
dancing  up  and  down  in  the  churchyard ;  I  cannot  forget 
the  pretty  words  they  say  to  each  other,  'Sweet  love, 
a  kiss';  'kiss  me,  my  love,  nor  let  me  go';  'As  I  went 
through  the  garden  gate';  'A  bonny  black  knight,  a 
bonny  black  knight,  and  what  will  you  give  to  me?  A 
kiss,  and  a  kiss,  and  no  more  than  a  kiss,  under  the  wild 
rose  tree.'  Oh,  Mary  Mother,  have  pity  on  a  poor 
girl's  heart,  I  shall  die,  if  no  one  love  me,  I  shall  die." 

"In  faith,  I  am  truly  sorry,  William,"  said  Sister 
Agnes,  who  was  gaunt  and  hollow-eyed  with  long  vigils 
and  overfasting,  for  which  the  good  father  had  rebuked 

[11] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


her  time  after  time,  saying  that  she  overtasked  the  poor 
weak  flesh.  "I  am  truly  sorry  that  I  could  not  wait. 
But  the  neighbours  made  such  a  clamour,  and  my  father 
and  mother  buffeted  me  too  sorely.  It  is  under  the  oak 
tree,  no  more  than  a  foot  deep,  and  covered  with  the 
red  and  brown  leaves.  It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the 
red  blood  on  its  neck,  as  white  as  whalebone,  and  it 
neither  cried  nor  wept,  so  I  put  it  down  among  the 
leaves,  the  pretty  poppet;  and  it  was  like  thee,  William, 
it  was  like  thee.  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  wait,  and  now 
I'm  worn  and  wan  for  thy  sake,  this  many  a  long  year, 
and  all  in  vain,  for  thou  never  comst.  I  am  an  old 
woman  now,  and  I  shall  soon  be  quiet  and  not  com- 
plain any  more." 

Some  of  the  Sisters  were  sobbing  as  if  their  hearts 
would  break;  some  sat  quiet  and  still,  and  let  the  tears 
fall  from  their  eyes  unchecked;  some  smiled  and  cried 
together;  some  sighed  a  little  and  trembled  like  aspen 
leaves  in  a  southern  wind.  The  great  candles  in  the 
hall  were  burning  down  to  their  sockets.  One  by  one 
they  spluttered  out.  A  ghostly,  flickering  light  fell 
upon  the  legend  over  the  broad  dais,  '^Connubium  mun- 
dum  sed  virginitas  paradisum  complet" — "Marriage 
replenisheth  the  World,  but  virginity  Paradise." 

"Dong,  dong,  dong."  Suddenly  the  great  bell  of  the 
Nunnery  began  to  toll.  With  a  cry  the  Abbess  sprang 
to  her  feet;  there  were  tear  stains  on  her  white  cheeks, 
and  her  hand  shook  as  she  pointed  fiercely  to  the  door. 

"Away,  false  pilgrim,"  she  cried.  "Silence,  foul 
blasphemer!  Retro  me,  Satanas,''  She  crossed  her- 
self again  and  again,  saying  Pater  Noster, 

ri2i 


THE     DEVIL     IN     A     NUNNERY 

The  nuns  screamed  and  trembled  with  terror.  A  lit- 
tle cloud  of  blue  smoke  arose  from  where  the  min- 
strel had  stood.  There  was  a  little  tongue  of  flame,  and 
he  had  disappeared.  It  was  almost  dark  in  the  hall.  A 
few  sobs  broke  the  silence.  The  dying  light  of  a  single 
candle  fell  on  the  form  of  the  Lady  Mother. 

"Tomorrow,"  she  said,  "we  shall  fast  and  sing 
Placebo  and  Dirige  and  the  Seven  Penitential  Psalms, 
May  the  Holy  God  have  mercy  upon  us  for  all  we  have 
done  and  said  and  thought  amiss  this  night.     Amen." 


[13] 


BELPHAGOR 
BY    NICCOLO    MACHIAVELLI 

We  read  in  the  ancient  archives  of  Florence  the  fol- 
lowing account,  as  it  was  received  from  the  lips  of  a 
very  holy  man,  greatly  respected  by  every  one  for  the 
sanctity  of  his  manners  at  the  period  in  which  he  lived. 
Happening  once  to  be  deeply  absorbed  in  his  prayers, 
such  was  their  efficacy,  that  he  saw  an  infinite  number  of 
condemned  souls,  belonging  to  those  miserable  mortals 
who  had  died  in  their  sins,  undergoing  the  punishment 
due  to  their  offences  in  the  regions  below.  He  re- 
marked that  the  greater  part  of  them  lamented  nothing 
so  bitterly  as  their  folly  in  having  taken  wives,  attribut- 
ing to  them  the  whole  of  their  misfortunes.  Much  sur- 
prised at  this,  Minos  and  Rhadamanthus,  with  the  rest  of 
the  infernal  judges,  unwilling  to  credit  all  the  abuse 
heaped  upon  the  female  sex,  and  wearied  from  day  to 
day  with  its  repetition,  agreed  to  bring  the  matter  before 
Pluto.  It  was  then  resolved  that  the  conclave  of  in- 
fernal princes  should  form  a  committee  of  inquiry,  and 
should  adopt  such  measures  as  might  be  deemed  most 
advisable  by  the  court  in  order  to  discover  the  truth  or 
falsehood  of  the  calumnies  which  they  heard.  All  be- 
ing assembled  in  council,  Pluto  addressed  them  as  fol- 
lows: "Dearly  beloved  demons!  though  by  celestial 
dispensation  and  the  irreversible  decree  of  fate  this 

[14] 


BELPHAGOR 


kingdom  fell  to  my  share,  and  I  might  strictly  dispense 
with  any  kind  of  celestial  or  earthly  responsibility,  yet, 
as  it  is  more  prudent  and  respectful  to  consult  the  laws 
and  to  hear  the  opinion  of  others,  I  have  resolved  to  be 
guided  by  your  advice,  particularly  in  a  case  that  may 
chance  to  cast  some  imputation  upon  our  government. 
For  the  souls  of  all  men  daily  arriving  in  our  kingdom 
still  continue  to  lay  the  whole  blame  upon  their  wives, 
and  as  this  appears  to  us  impossible,  we  must  be  care- 
ful how  we  decide  in  such  a  business,  lest  we  also  should 
come  in  for  a  share  of  their  abuse,  on  account  of  our 
too  great  severity;  and  yet  judgment  must  be  pro- 
nounced, lest  we  be  taxed  with  negligence  and  with  in- 
difference to  the  interests  of  justice.  Now,  as  the  latter 
is  the  fault  of  a  careless,  and  the  former  of  an  unjust 
judge,  we,  wishing  to  avoid  the  trouble  and  the  blame 
that  might  attach  to  both,  yet  hardly  seeing  how  to  get 
clear  of  it,  naturally  enough  apply  to  you  for  assistance, 
in  order  that  you  may  look  to  it,  and  contrive  in  some 
way  that,  as  we  have  hitherto  reigned  without  the  slight- 
est imputation  upon  our  character,  we  may  continue  to 
do  so  for  the  future." 

The  affair  appearing  to  be  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  all  the  princes  present,  they  first  resolved  that  it  was 
necessary  to  ascertain  the  truth,  though  they  differed  as 
to  the  best  means  of  accomplishing  this  object.  Some 
were  of  opinion  that  they  ought  to  choose  one  or  more 
from  among  themselves,  who  should  be  commissioned  to 
pay  a  visit  to  the  world,  and  in  a  human  shape  endeavour 
personally  to  ascertain  how  far  such  reports  were 
grounded  in  truth.     To  many  others  it  appeared  that 

[15] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


this  might  be  done  without  so  much  trouble  merely  by 
compelling  some  of  the  wretched  souls  to  confess  the 
truth  by  the  application  of  a  variety  of  tortures.  But 
the  majority  being  in  favour  of  a  journey  to  the  world, 
they  abided  by  the  former  proposal.  No  one,  however, 
being  ambitious  of  undertaking  such  a  task,  it  was  re- 
solved to  leave  the  affair  to  chance.  The  lot  fell  upon 
the  arch-devil  Belphagor,  who,  previous  to  the  Fall,  had 
enjoyed  the  rank  of  archangel  in  a  higher  world. 
Though  he  received  his  commission  with  a  very  ill  grace, 
he  nevertheless  felt  himself  constrained  by  Pluto's  im- 
perial mandate,  and  prepared  to  execute  whatever  had 
been  determined  upon  in  council.  At  the  same  time  he 
took  an  oath  to  observe  the  tenor  of  his  instructions,  as 
they  had  been  drawn  up  with  all  due  solemnity  and 
ceremony  for  the  purpose  of  his  mission.  These  were 
to  the  following  effect : — Imprimis,  that  the  better  to  pro- 
mote the  object  in  view,  he  should  be  furnished  with  a 
hundred  thousand  gold  ducats;  secondly,  that  he  should 
make  use  of  the  utmost  expedition  in  getting  into  the 
world;  thirdly,  that  after  assuming  the  human  form  he 
should  enter  into  the  marriage  state;  and  lastly,  that  he 
should  live  with  his  wife  for  the  space  of  ten  years. 
At  the  expiration  of  this  period,  he  was  to  feign  death 
and  return  home,  in  order  to  acquaint  his  employers, 
by  the  fruits  of  experience,  what  really  were  the  re- 
spective conveniences  and  inconveniences  of  matrimony. 
The  conditions  further  ran,  that  during  the  said  ten 
years  he  should  be  subject  to  all  kinds  of  miseries  and 
disasters,  like  the  rest  of  mankind,  such  as  poverty, 
prisons,  and  diseases  into  which  men  are  apt  to  fall, 

[16] 


BELPHAGOR 


unless,  indeed,  he  could  contrive  by  his  own  skill  and 
ingenuity  to  avoid  them.  Poor  Belphagor  having 
signed  these  conditions  and  received  the  money,  forth- 
with came  into  the  world,  and  having  set  up  his  equi- 
page, with  a  numerous  train  of  servants,  he  made  a  very 
splendid  entrance  into  Florence.  He  selected  this  city 
in  preference  to  all  others,  as  being  most  favourable  for 
obtaining  an  usurious  interest  of  his  money;  and  having 
assumed  the  name  of  Roderigo,  a  native  of  Castile,  he 
took  a  house  in  the  suburbs  of  Ognissanti.  And  be- 
cause he  was  unable  to  explain  the  instructions  under 
which  he  acted,  he  gave  out  that  he  was  a  merchant,  who 
having  had  poor  prospects  in  Spain,  had  gone  to  Syria, 
and  succeeded  in  acquiring  his  fortune  at  Aleppo, 
whence  he  had  lastly  set  out  for  Italy,  with  the  intention 
of  marrying  and  settling  there,  as  one  of  the  most  pol- 
ished and  agreeable  countries  he  knew. 

Roderigo  was  certainly  a  very  handsome  man,  ap- 
parently about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  he  lived  in  a 
style  of  life  that  showed  he  was  in  pretty  easy  circum- 
stances, if  not  possessed  of  immense  wealth.  Being, 
moreover,  extremely  affable  and  liberal,  he  soon  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  many  noble  citizens  blessed  with 
large  families  of  daughters  and  small  incomes.  The 
former  of  these  were  soon  offered  to  him,  from  among 
whom  Roderigo  chose  a  very  beautiful  girl  of  the  name 
of  Onesta,  a  daughter  of  Amerigo  Donati,  who  had  also 
three  sons,  all  grown  up,  and  three  more  daughters, 
also  nearly  marriageable.  Though  of  a  noble  family 
and  enjoying  a  good  reputation  in  Florence,  his  father- 
in-law  was  extremely  poor,  and  maintained  as  poor  an 

[17] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


establishment.  Roderigo,  therefore,  made  very  splen- 
did nuptials,  and  omitted  nothing  that  might  tend  to 
confer  honour  upon  such  a  festival,  being  liable,  under 
the  law  which  he  received  on  leaving  his  infernal  abode, 
to  feel  all  kinds  of  vain  and  earthly  passions.  He  there- 
fore soon  began  to  enter  into  all  the  pomps  and  vanities 
of  the  world,  and  to  aim  at  reputation  and  consideration 
among  mankind,  which  put  him  to  no  little  expense. 
But  more  than  this,  he  had  not  long  enjoyed  the  society 
of  his  beloved  Onesta,  before  he  became  tenderly  at- 
tached to  her,  and  was  unable  to  behold  her  suffer  the 
slightest  inquietude  or  vexation.  Now,  along  with  her 
other  gifts  of  beauty  and  nobility,  the  lady  had  brought 
into  the  house  of  Roderigo  such  an  insufferable  portion 
of  pride,  that  in  this  respect  Lucifer  himself  could  not 
equal  her;  for  her  husband,  who  had  experienced  the 
effects  of  both,  was  at  no  loss  to  decide  which  was  the 
most  intolerable  of  the  two.  Yet  it  became  infinitely 
worse  when  she  discovered  the  extent  of  Roderigo's  at- 
tachment to  her,  of  which  she  availed  herself  to  obtain 
an  ascendancy  over  him  and  rule  him  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
Not  content  with  this,  when  she  found  he  would  bear  it, 
she  continued  to  annoy  him  with  all  kinds  of  insults  and 
taunts,  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  him  the  most  indescrib- 
able pain  and  uneasiness.  For  what  with  the  influence 
of  her  father,  her  brothers,  her  friends,  and  relatives,  the 
duty  of  the  matrimonial  yoke,  and  the  love  he  bore  her, 
he  suffered  all  for  some  time  with  the  patience  of  a 
saint.  It  would  be  useless  to  recount  the  follies  and 
extravagancies  into  which  he  ran  in  order  to  gratify  her 
taste  for  dress,  and  every  article  of  the  newest  fashion, 

[18] 


BELPHAGOR 


in  which  our  city,  ever  so  variable  in  its  nature,  accord- 
ing to  its  usual  habits,  so  much  abounds.  Yet,  to  live 
upon  easy  terms  with  her,  he  was  obliged  to  do  more 
than  this;  he  had  to  assist  his  father-in-law  in  portion- 
ing off  his  other  daughters;  and  she  next  asked  him  to 
furnish  one  of  her  brothers  with  goods  to  sail  for  the 
Levant,  another  with  silks  for  the  West,  while  a  third 
was  to  be  set  up  in  a  goldbeater's  establishment  at  Flor- 
ence. In  such  objects  the  greatest  part  of  his  fortune 
was  soon  consumed.  At  length  the  Carnival  season 
was  at  hand;  the  festival  of  St.  John  was  to  be  cele- 
brated, and  the  whole  city,  as  usual,  was  in  a  ferment. 
Numbers  of  the  noblest  families  were  about  to  vie  with 
each  other  in  the  splendour  of  their  parties,  and  the 
Lady  Onesta,  being  resolved  not  to  be  outshone  by  her 
acquaintance,  insisted  that  Roderigo  should  exceed  them 
all  in  the  richness  of  their  feasts.  For  the  reasons  above 
stated,  he  submitted  to  her  will;  nor,  indeed,  would  he 
have  scrupled  at  doing  much  more,  however  difficult  it 
might  have  been,  could  he  have  flattered  himself  with  a 
hope  of  preserving  the  peace  and  comfort  of  his  house- 
hold, and  of  awaiting  quietly  the  consummation  of  his 
ruin.  But  this  was  not  the  case,  inasmuch  as  the  ar- 
rogant temper  of  his  wife  had  grown  to  such  a  height 
of  asperity  by  long  indulgence,  that  he  was  at  a  loss 
in  what  way  to  act.  His  domestics,  male  and  female, 
would  no  longer  remain  in  the  house,  being  unable  to 
support  for  any  length  of  time  the  intolerable  life  they 
led.  The  inconvenience  which  he  suffered  in  conse- 
quence of  having  no  one  to  whom  he  could  intrust  his 
affairs  it  is  impossible  to  express.     Even  his  own  fa- 

[19] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


miliar  devils,  whom  he  had  brought  along  with  him, 
had  already  deserted  him,  choosing  to  return  below 
rather  than  longer  submit  to  the  tyranny  of  his  wife. 
Left,  then,  to  himself,  amidst  this  turbulent  and  un- 
happy life,  and  having  dissipated  all  the  ready  money 
he  possessed,  he  was  compelled  to  live  upon  the  hopes 
of  the  returns  expected  from  his  ventures  in  the  East  and 
the  West.  Being  still  in  good  credit,  in  order  to  sup- 
port his  rank  he  resorted  to  bills  of  exchange;  nor  was 
it  long  before,  accounts  running  against  him,  he  found 
himself  in  the  same  situation  as  many  other  unhappy 
speculators  in  that  market.  Just  as  his  case  became  ex- 
tremely delicate,  there  arrived  sudden  tidings  both  from 
East  and  West  that  one  of  his  wife's  brothers  had  dis- 
sipated the  whole  of  Roderigo's  profits  in  play,  and 
that  while  the  bther  was  returning  with  a  rich  cargo  un- 
insured, his  ship  had  the  misfortune  to  be  wrecked,  and 
he  himself  was  lost.  No  sooner  did  this  affair  tran- 
spire than  his  creditors  assembled,  and  supposing  it 
must  be  all  over  with  him,  though  their  bills  had  not  yet 
become  due,  they  resolved  to  keep  a  strict  watch  over 
him  in  fear  that  he  might  abscond.  Roderigo,  on  his 
part,  thinking  that  there  was  no  other  remedy,  and  feel- 
ing how  deeply  he  was  bound  by  the  Stygian  law,  de- 
termined at  all  hazards  to  make  his  escape.  So  taking 
horse  one  morning  early,  as  he  luckily  lived  near  the 
Prato  gate,  in  that  direction  he  went  off.  His  departure 
was  soon  known;  the  creditors  were  all  in  a  bustle;  the 
magistrates  were  applied  to,  and  the  officers  of  justice, 
along  with  a  great  part  of  the  populace,  were  dispatched 
in  pursuit.     Roderigo  had  hardly  proceeded  a  mile  be- 

[20] 


BELPHAGOR 


fore  he  heard  this  hue  and  cry,  and  the  pursuers  were 
soon  so  close  at  his  heels  that  the  only  resource  he  had 
left  was  to  abandon  the  highroad  and  take  to  the  open 
country,  with  the  hope  of  concealing  himself  in  the 
fields.  But  finding  himself  unable  to  make  way  over 
the  hedges  and  ditches,  he  left  his  horse  and  took  to  his 
heels,  traversing  fields  of  vines  and  canes,  until  he 
reached  Peretola,  where  he  entered  the  house  of  Matteo 
del  Bricca,  a  labourer  of  Giovanna  del  Bene.  Finding 
him  at  home,  for  he  was  busily  providing  fodder  for  his 
cattle,  our  hero  earnestly  entreated  him  to  save  him  from 
the  hands  of  his  adversaries  close  behind,  who  would 
infallibly  starve  him  to  death  in  a  dungeon,  engaging 
that  if  Matteo  would  give  him  refuge,  he  would  make 
him  one  of  the  richest  men  alive,  and  afford  him  such 
proofs  of  it  before  he  took  his  leave  as  would  convince 
him  of  the  truth  of  what  he  said;  and  if  he  failed  to  do 
this,  he  was  quite  content  that  Matteo  himself  should  de- 
liver him  into  the  hands  of  his  enemies. 

Now  Matteo,  although  a  rustic,  was  a  man  of  courage, 
and  concluding  that  he  could  not  lose  an3^hing  by  the 
speculation,  he  gave  him  his  hand  and  agreed  to  save 
him.  He  then  thrust  our  hero  under  a  heap  of  rubbish, 
completely  enveloping  him  in  weeds;  so  that  when  his 
pursuers  arrived  they  found  themselves  quite  at  a  loss, 
nor  could  they  extract  from  Matteo  the  least  informa- 
tion as  to  his  appearance.  In  this  dilemma  there  was 
nothing  left  for  them  but  to  proceed  in  the  pursuit, 
which  they  continued  for  two  days,  and  then  returned, 
jaded  and  disappointed,  to  Florence.  In  the  mean- 
while, Matteo  drew  our  hero  from  his  hiding-place,  and 

[21] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


begged  him  to  fulfil  his  engagement.  To  this  his  friend 
Roderigo  replied:  "I  confess,  brother,  that  I  am  under 
great  obligations  to  you,  and  I  mean  to  return  them. 
To  leave  no  doubt  upon  your  mind,  I  will  inform  you 
who  I  am;"  and  he  proceeded  to  acquaint  him  with  all 
the  particulars  of  the  affair:  how  he  had  come  into  the 
world,  and  married,  and  run  away.  He  next  described 
to  his  preserver  the  way  in  which  he  might  become  rich, 
which  was  briefly  as  follows :  As  soon  as  Matteo  should 
hear  of  some  lady  in  the  neighbourhood  being  said  to 
be  possessed,  he  was  to  conclude  that  it  was  Roderigo 
himself  who  had  taken  possession  of  her;  and  he  gave 
him  his  word,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  would  never 
leave  her  until  Matteo  should  come  and  conjure  him  to 
depart.  In  this  way  he  might  obtain  what  sum  he 
pleased  from  the  lady's  friends  for  the  price  of  exorciz- 
ing her;  and  having  mutually  agreed  upon  this  plan, 
Roderigo  disappeared. 

Not  many  days  elapsed  before  it  was  reported  in 
Florence  that  the  daughter  of  Messer  Ambrogio  Amedei, 
a  lady  married  to  Buonajuto  Tebalducci,  was  possessed 
by  the  devil.  Her  relations  did  not  fail  to  apply  every 
means  usual  on  such  occasions  to  expel  him,  such  as 
making  her  wear  upon  her  head  St.  Zanobi's  cap,  and 
the  cloak  of  St.  John  of  Gualberto ;  but  these  had  only  the 
effect  of  making  Roderigo  laugh.  And  to  convince 
them  that  it  was  really  a  spirit  that  possessed  her,  and 
that  it  was  no  flight  of  the  imagination,  he  made  the 
young  lady  talk  Latin,  hold  a  philosophical  dispute,  and 
reveal  the  frailties  of  many  of  her  acquaintance.  He 
particularly  accused  a  certain  friar  of  having  intro- 

[22] 


BELPHAGOR 


duced  a  lady  into  his  monastery  in  male  attire,  to  the 
no  small  scandal  of  all  who  heard  it,  and  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  brotherhood.  Messer  Ambrogio  found  it 
impossible  to  silence  him,  and  began  to  despair  of  his 
daughter's  cure.  But  the  news  reaching  Matteo,  he  lost 
no  time  in  waiting  upon  Ambrogio,  assuring  him  of  his 
daughter's  recovery  on  condition  of  his  paying  him  five 
hundred  florins,  with  which  to  purchase  a  farm  at  Pere- 
tola.  To  this  Messer  Ambrogio  consented;  and  Matteo 
immediately  ordered  a  number  of  masses  to  be  said, 
after  which  he  proceeded  with  some  unmeaning  cere- 
monies calculated  to  give  solemnity  to  his  task.  Then 
approaching  the  young  lady,  he  whispered  in  her  ear: 
"Roderigo,  it  is  Matteo  that  is  come.  So  do  as  we 
agreed  upon,  and  get  out."  Roderigo  replied:  "It 
is  all  well;  but  you  have  not  asked  enough  to  make  you 
a  rich  man.  So  when  I  depart  I  will  take  possession 
of  the  daughter  of  Charles,  king  of  Naples,  and  I  will 
not  leave  her  till  you  come.  You  may  then  demand 
whatever  you  please  for  your  reward;  and  mind  that 
you  never  trouble  me  again."  And  when  he  had  said 
this,  he  went  out  of  the  lady,  to  the  no  small  delight  and 
amazement  of  the  whole  city  of  Florence. 

It  was  not  long  again  before  the  accident  that  had 
happened  to  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  Naples  began 
to  be  buzzed  about  the  country,  and  all  the  monkish 
remedies  having  been  found  to  fail,  the  king,  hearing  of 
Matteo,  sent  for  him  from  Florence.  On  arriving  at 
Naples,  Matteo,  after  a  few  ceremonies,  performed  the 
cure.  Before  leaving  the  princess,  however,  Roderigo 
said:     "You  see,  Matteo,  I  have  kept  my  promise  and 

[23] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


made  a  rich  man  of  you,  and  I  owe  you  nothing  now. 
So,  henceforward  you  will  take  care  to  keep  out  of  my 
way,  lest  as  I  have  hitherto  done  you  some  good,  just 
the  contrary  should  happen  to  you  in  future."  Upon 
this  Matteo  thought  it  best  to  return  to  Florence,  after 
receiving  fifty  thousand  ducats  from  his  majesty,  in 
order  to  enjoy  his  riches  in  peace,  and  never  once 
imagined  that  Roderigo  would  come  in  his  way  again. 
But  in  this  he  was  deceived;  for  he  soon  heard  that  a 
daughter  of  Louis,  king  of  France,  was  possessed  by  an 
evil  spirit,  which  disturbed  our  friend  Matteo  not  a  lit- 
tle, thinking  of  his  majesty's  great  authority  and  of 
what  Roderigo  had  said.  Hearing  of  Matteo's  great 
skill,  and  finding  no  other  remedy,  the  king  dispatched 
a  messenger  for  him,  whom  Matteo  contrived  to  send 
back  with  a  variety  of  excuses.  But  this  did  not  long 
avail  him;  the  king  applied  to  the  Florentine  council, 
and  our  hero  was  compelled  to  attend.  Arriving  with 
no  very  pleasant  sensations  at  Paris,  he  was  introduced 
into  the  royal  presence,  when  he  assured  his  majesty 
that  though  it  was  true  he  had  acquired  some  fame  in  the 
course  of  his  demoniac  practice,  he  could  by  no  means 
always  boast  of  success,  and  that  some  devils  were  of 
such  a  desperate  character  as  not  to  pay  the  least  atten- 
tion to  threats,  enchantments,  or  even  the  exorcisms  of 
religion  itself.  He  would,  nevertheless,  do  his  majes- 
ty's pleasure,  entreating  at  the  same  time  to  be  held 
excused  if  it  should  happen  to  prove  an  obstinate  case. 
To  this  the  king  made  answer,  that  be  the  case  what  it 
might,  he  would  certainly  hang  him  if  he  did  not  suc- 
ceed.    It  is  impossible  to  describe  poor  Matteo's  terror 

[24] 


BELPHAGOR 


and  perplexity  on  hearing  these  words;  but  at  length 
mustering  courage,  he  ordered  the  possessed  princess  to 
be  brought  into  his  presence.  Approaching  as  usual 
close  to  her  ear,  he  conjured  Roderigo  in  the  most  hum- 
ble terms,  by  all  he  had  ever  done  for  him,  not  to  aban- 
don him  in  such  a  dilemma,  but  to  show  some  sense  of 
gratitude  for  past  services  and  to  leave  the  princess. 
"Ah!  thou  traitorous  villain!"  cried  Roderigo,  "hast 
thou,  indeed,  ventured  to  meddle  in  this  business? 
Dost  thou  boast  thyself  a  rich  man  at  my  expense?  I 
will  now  convince  the  world  and  thee  of  the  extent  of 
my  power,  both  to  give  and  to  take  away.  I  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  thee  hanged  before  thou  leavest 
this  place."  Poor  Matteo  finding  there  was  no  remedy, 
said  nothing  more,  but,  like  a  wise  man,  set  his  head 
to  work  in  order  to  discover  some  other  means  of  ex- 
pelling the  spirit;  for  which  purpose  he  said  to  the 
king,  "Sire,  it  is  as  I  feared:  there  are  certain  spirits  of 
so  malignant  a  character  that  there  is  no  keeping  any 
terms  with  them,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  However,  I 
will  make  a  last  attempt,  and  I  trust  that  it  will  succeed 
according  to  our  wishes.  If  not,  I  am  in  your  majesty's 
power,  and  I  hope  you  will  take  compassion  on  my  in- 
nocence. In  the  first  place,  I  have  to  entreat  that  your 
majesty  will  order  a  large  stage  to  be  erected  in  the 
centre  of  the  great  square,  such  as  will  admit  the  nobility 
and  clergy  of  the  whole  city.  The  stage  ought  to  be 
adorned  with  all  kinds  of  silks  and  with  cloth  of  gold, 
and  with  an  altar  raised  in  the  middle.  Tomorrow 
morning  I  would  have  your  majesty,  with  your  full 
train  of  lords  and  ecclesiastics  in  attendance,  seated  in 

[25] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


order  and  in  magnificent  array,  as  spectators  of  the 
scene  at  the  said  place.  There,  after  having  celebrated 
solemn  mass,  the  possessed  princess  must  appear;  but  I 
have  in  particular  to  entreat  that  on  one  side  of  the 
square  may  be  stationed  a  band  of  men  with  drums, 
trumpets,  horns,  tambours,  bagpipes,  cymbals,  and  ket- 
tle-drums, and  all  other  kinds  of  instruments  that  make 
the  most  infernal  noise.  Now,  when  I  take  my  hat  off, 
let  the  whole  band  strike  up,  and  approach  with  the 
most  horrid  uproar  towards  the  stage.  This,  along  with 
a  few  other  secret  remedies  which  I  shall  apply,  will 
surely  compel  the  spirit  to  depart." 

These  preparations  were  accordingly  made  by  the 
royal  command ;  and  when  the  day,  being  Sunday  morn- 
ing, arrived,  the  stage  was  seen  crowded  with  people  of 
rank  and  the  square  with  the  people.  Mass  was  cele- 
brated, and  the  possessed  princess  conducted  between 
two  bishops,  with  a  train  of  nobles,  to  the  spot.  Now, 
when  Roderigo  beheld  so  vast  a  concourse  of  people, 
together  with  all  this  awful  preparation,  he  was  almost 
struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  and  said  to  himself, 
''I  wonder  what  that  cowardly  wretch  is  thinking  of 
doing  now?  Does  he  imagine  I  have  never  seen  finer 
things  than  these  in  the  regions  above — ay!  and  more 
horrid  things  below?  However,  I  will  soon  make  him 
repent  it,  at  all  events."  Matteo  then  approaching  him, 
besought  him  to  come  out;  but  Roderigo  replied,  "Oh, 
you  think  you  have  done  a  fine  thing  now!  What  do 
you  mean  to  do  with  all  this  trumpery?  Can  you  escape 
my  power,  think  you,  in  this  way,  or  elude  the  ven- 
geance of  the  king?     Thou  poltroon  villain,  I  will  have 

[26] 


BELPHAGOR 


thee  hanged  for  this!"  And  as  Matteo  continued  the 
more  to  entreat  him,  his  adversay  still  vilified  him  in 
the  same  strain.  So  Matteo,  believing  there  was  no  time 
to  be  lost,  made  the  sign  with  his  hat,  when  all  the 
musicians  who  had  been  stationed  there  for  the  purpose 
suddenly  struck  up  a  hideous  din,  and  ringing  a  thou- 
sand peals,  approached  the  spot.  Roderigo  pricked  up 
his  ears  at  the  sound,  quite  at  a  loss  what  to  think,  and 
rather  in  a  perturbed  tone  of  voice  he  asked  Matteo 
what  it  meant.  To  this  the  latter  returned,  apparently 
much  alarmed:  "Alas!  dear  Roderigo,  it  is  your  wife; 
she  is  coming  for  you!"  It  is  impossible  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  anguish  of  Roderigo's  mind  and  the  strange 
alteration  which  his  feelings  underwent  at  that  name. 
The  moment  the  name  of  "wife"  was  pronounced,  he 
had  no  longer  presence  of  mind  to  consider  whether  it 
were  probable,  or  even  possible,  that  it  could  be  her. 
Without  replying  a  single  word,  he  leaped  out  and  fled 
in  the  utmost  terror,  leaving  the  lady  to  herself,  and 
preferring  rather  to  return  to  his  infernal  abode  and 
render  an  account  of  his  adventures,  than  run  the  risk 
of  any  further  sufferings  and  vexations  under  the  matri- 
monial yoke.  And  thus  Belphagor  again  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  the  infernal  domains,  bearing  ample  testi- 
mony to  the  evils  introduced  into  a  household  by  a  wife ; 
while  Matteo,  on  his  part,  who  knew  more  of  the  matter 
than  the  devil,  returned  triumphantly  home,  not  a  little 
proud  of  the  victory  he  had  achieved. 


[27] 


THE   DEVIL   AND   TOM   WALKER' 
BY    WASHINGTON    IRVING 

A  few  miles  from  Boston  in  Massachusetts,  there  is 
a  deep  inlet,  winding  several  miles  into  the  interior  of 
the  country  from  Charles  Bay,  and  terminating  in  a 
thickly-wooded  swamp  or  morass.  On  one  side  of  this 
inlet  is  a  beautiful  dark  grove;  on  the  opposite  side  the 
land  rises  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge  into  a  high 
ridge,  on  which  grow  a  few  scattered  oaks  of  great 
age  and  immense  size.  Under  one  of  these  gigantic 
trees,  according  to  old  stories,  there  was  a  great  amount 
of  treasure  buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate.  The  inlet  al- 
lowed a  facility  to  bring  the  money  in  a  boat  secretly 
and  at  night  to  the  very  foot  of  the  hill;  the  elevation  of 
the  place  permitted  a  good  lookout  to  be  kept  that  no 
one  was  at  hand;  while  the  remarkable  trees  formed 
good  landmarks  by  which  the  place  might  easily  be 
found  again.  The  old  stories  add,  moreover,  that  the 
devil  presided  at  the  hiding  of  the  money,  and  took  it 
under  his  guardianship;  but  this,  it  is  well  known,  he 
always  does  with  buried  treasure,  particularly  when  it 
has  been  ill-gotten.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Kidd  never  re- 
turned to  recover  his  wealth;  being  shortly  after  seized 
at  Boston,  sent  out  to  England,  and  there  hanged  for  a 
pirate. 

1  Courtesy  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers,  New  York  &  London. 

[28] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

About  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time  that  earthquakes 
were  prevalent  in  New  England,  and  shook  many  tall 
sinners  down  upon  their  knees,  there  lived  near  this 
place  a  meagre,  miserly  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Tom 
Walker.  He  had  a  wife  as  miserly  as  himself:  they 
were  so  miserly  that  they  even  conspired  to  cheat  each 
other.  Whatever  the  woman  could  lay  hands  on,  she 
hid  away;  a  hen  could  not  cackle  but  she  was  on  the 
alert  to  secure  the  new-laid  egg.  Her  husband  was  con- 
tinually prying  about  to  detect  her  secret  hoards,  and 
many  and  fierce  were  the  conflicts  that  took  place  about 
what  ought  to  have  been  common  property.  They  lived 
in  a  forlorn-looking  house  that  stood  alone,  and  had  an 
air  of  starvation.  A  few  straggling  savin-trees,  em- 
blems of  sterility,  grew  near  it;  no  smoke  ever  curled 
from  its  chimney;  no  traveller  stopped  at  its  door.  A 
miserable  horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  articulate  as  the 
bars  of  a  gridiron,  stalked  about  a  field,  where  a  thin 
carpet  of  moss,  scarcely  covering  the  ragged  beds  of 
pudding-stone,  tantalized  and  balked  his  hunger;  and 
sometimes  he  would  lean  his  head  over  the  fence,  look 
piteously  at  the  passer-by,  and  seem  to  petition  deliv- 
erance from  this  land  of  famine. 

The  house  and  its  inmates  had  altogether  a  bad  name. 
Tom's  wife  was  a  tall  termagant,  fierce  of  temper,  loud 
of  tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.  Her  voice  was  often 
heard  in  wordy  warfare  with  her  husband;  and  his  face 
sometimes  showed  signs  that  their  conflicts  were  not  con- 
fined to  words.  No  one  ventured,  however,  to  interfere 
between  them.  The  lonely  wayfarer  shrunk  within  him- 
self at  the  horrid  clamour  and  clapper-clawing;  eyed  the 

[29] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


den  of  discord  askance;  and  hurried  on  his  way,  re- 
joicing, if  a  bachelor,  in  his  celibacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  neighbourhood,  he  took  what  he  considered  a 
short  cut  homeward,  through  the  swamp.  Like  most 
short  cuts,  it  was  an  ill-chosen  route.  The  swamp  was 
thickly  grown  with  great  gloomy  pines  and  hemlocks, 
some  of  them  ninety  feet  high,  which  made  it  dark  at 
noonday,  and  a  retreat  for  all  the  owls  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. It  was  full  of  pits  and  quagmires,  partly 
covered  with  weeds  and  mosses,  where  the  green  surface 
often  betrayed  the  traveller  into  a  gulf  of  black,  smoth- 
ering mud:  there  were  also  dark  and  stagnant  pools,  the 
abodes  of  the  tadpole,  the  bull-frog,  and  the  water- 
snake;  where  the  trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay 
half -drowned,  half -rotting,  looking  like  alligators  sleep- 
ing in  the  mire. 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way  cautiously 
through  this  treacherous  forest;  stepping  from  tuft  to 
tuft  of  rushes  and  roots,  which  afforded  precarious  foot- 
holds among  deep  sloughs;  or  pacing  carefully,  like  a 
cat,  along  the  prostrate  trunks  of  trees;  startled  now  and 
then  by  the  sudden  screaming  of  the  bittern,  or  the 
quacking  of  a  wild  duck  rising  on  the  wing  from  some 
solitary  pool.  At  length  he  arrived  at  a  firm  piece  of 
ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  peninsula  into  the  deep 
bosom  of  the  swamp.  It  had  been  one  of  the  strong- 
holds of  the  Indians  during  their  wars  with  the  first 
colonists.  Here  they  had  thrown  up  a  kind  of  fort, 
which  they  had  looked  upon  as  almost  impregnable, 
and  had  used  as  a  place  of  refuge  for  their  squaws  and 

[30] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

children.  Nothing  remained  of  the  old  Indian  fort  but 
a  few  embankments,  gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of 
the  surrounding  earth,  and  already  overgrown  in  part 
by  oaks  and  other  forest  trees,  the  foliage  of  which 
formed  a  contrast  to  the  dark  pines  and  hemlocks  of 
the  swamp. 

It  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  evening  when  Tom  Walker 
reached  the  old  fort,  and  he  paused  there  awhile  to  rest 
himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have  felt  unwilling  to 
linger  in  this  lonely,  melancholy  place,  for  the  common 
people  had  a  bad  opinion  of  it,  from  the  stories  handed 
down  from  the  time  of  the  Indian  wars;  when  it  was  as- 
serted that  the  savages  held  incantations  here,  and  made 
sacrifices  to  the  evil  spirit. 

Tom  Walker,  however,  was  not  a  man  to  be  troubled 
with  any  fears  of  the  kind.  He  reposed  himself  for 
some  time  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  listening  to 
the  boding  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  and  delving  with  his 
walking-staff  into  a  mound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet. 
As  he  turned  up  the  soil  unconsciously,  his  staff  struck 
against  something  hard.  He  raked  it  out  of  the  vege- 
table mould,  and  lo!  a  cloven  skull,  with  an  Indian 
tomahawk  buried  deep  in  it,  lay  before  him.  The  rust 
on  the  weapon  showed  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since 
this  death-blow  had  been  given.  It  was  a  dreary  me- 
mento of  the  fierce  struggle  that  had  taken  place  in  this 
last  foothold  of  the  Indian  warriors. 

"Humph!"  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he  gave  it  a  kick  to 
shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"Let  that  skull  alone!"  said  a  gruff  voice.  Tom 
lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  a  great  black  man  seated 

[31] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


directly  opposite  him,  on  the  stump  of  a  tree.  He  was 
exceedingly  surprised,  having  neither  heard  nor  seen 
any  one  approach;  and  he  was  still  more  perplexed  on 
observing,  as  well  as  the  gathering  gloom  would  per- 
mit, that  the  stranger  was  neither  negro  nor  Indian.  It 
is  true  he  was  dressed  in  a  rude  half  Indian  garb,  and 
had  a  red  belt  or  sash  swathed  round  his  body;  but  his 
face  was  neither  black  nor  copper-colour,  but  swarthy 
and  dingy,  and  begrimed  with  soot,  as  if  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to  toil  among  fires  and  forges.  He  had  a 
shock  of  coarse  black  hair,  that  stood  out  from  his  head 
in  all  directions,  and  bore  an  ax  on  his  shoulder. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom  with  a  pair  of  great 
red  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing  on  my  grounds?"  said  the  black 
man,  with  a  hoarse  growling  voice. 

"Your  grounds!"  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer,  "no  more 
your  grounds  than  mine;  they  belong  to  Deacon  Pea- 
body." 

"Deacon  Peabody  be  d — d,"  said  the  stranger,  "as 
I  flatter  myself  he  will  be,  if  he  does  not  look  more  to 
his  own  sins  and  less  to  those  of  his  neisjhbours.  Look 
yonder,  and  see  how  Deacon  Peabody  is  faring." 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the  stranger  pointed, 
and  beheld  one  of  the  great  trees,  fair  and  flourishing 
without,  but  rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw  that  it  had  been 
nearly  hewn  through,  so  that  the  first  high  wind  was 
likely  to  blow  it  down.  On  the  bark  of  the  tree  was 
scored  the  name  of  Deacon  Peabody,  an  eminent  man, 
who  had  waxed  wealthy  by  driving  shrewd  bargains  with 

[32] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

the  Indians.  He  now  looked  around,  and  found  most 
of  the  tall  trees  marked  with  the  name  of  some  great 
man  of  the  colony,  and  all  more  or  less  scored  by  the 
ax.  The  one  on  which  he  had  been  seated,  and  which 
had  evidently  just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the  name  of 
Crowninshield;  and  he  recollected  a  mighty  rich  man 
of  that  name,  who  made  a  vulgar  display  of  wealth, 
which  it  was  whispered  he  had  acquired  by  buccaneer- 
ing. 

"He's  just  ready  for  burning!"  said  the  black  man, 
with  a  growl  of  triumph.  "You  see  I  am  likely  to  have 
a  good  stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"But  what  right  have  you,"  said  Tom,  "to  cut  down 
Deacon  Peabody's  timber?" 

"The  right  of  a  prior  claim,"  said  the  other.  "This 
woodland  belonged  to  me  long  before  one  of  your 
whitefaced  race  put  foot  upon  the  soil." 

"And  pray,  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be  so  bold?"  said 
Tom. 

"Oh,  I  go  by  various  names.  I  am  the  wild  hunts- 
man in  some  countries;  the  black  miner  in  others.  In 
this  neighbourhood  I  am  known  by  the  name  of  the 
black  woodsman.  I  am  he  to  whom  the  red  men  con- 
secrated this  spot,  and  in  honour  of  whom  they  now  and 
then  roasted  a  white  man,  by  way  of  sweet-smelling 
sacrifice.  Since  the  red  men  have  been  exterminated 
by  you  white  savages,  I  amuse  myself  by  presiding  at 
the  persecutions  of  Quakers  and  Anabaptists;  I  am  the 
great  patron  and  prompter  of  slave-dealers,  and  the 
grand-master  of  the  Salem  witches." 

[33] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  that,  if  I  mistake  not," 
said  Tom,  sturdily,  "you  are  he  commonly  called  Old 
Scratch." 

"The  same,  at  your  service!"  replied  the  black  man, 
with  a  half  civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  interview,  according  to 
the  old  story;  though  it  has  almost  too  familiar  an  air 
to  be  credited.  One  would  think  that  to  meet  with 
such  a  singular  personage,  in  this  wild,  lonely  place, 
would  have  shaken  any  man's  nerves;  but  Tom  was  a 
hard-minded  fellow,  not  easily  daunted,  and  he  had 
lived  so  long  with  a  termagant  wife,  that  he  did  not  even 
fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement  they  had  a 
long  and  earnest  conversation  together,  as  Tom  returned 
homeward.  The  black  man  told  him  of  great  sums  of 
money  buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak-trees  on 
the  high  ridge,  not  far  from  the  morass.  All  these  were 
under  his  command,  and  protected  by  his  power,  so  that 
none  could  find  them  but  such  as  propitiated  his  favour. 
These  he  offered  to  place  within  Tom  Walker's  reach, 
having  conceived  an  especial  kindness  for  him ;  but  they 
were  to  be  had  only  on  certain  conditions.  What  these 
conditions  were  may  be  easily  surmised,  though  Tom 
never  disclosed  them  publicly.  They  must  have  been 
very  hard,  for  he  required  time  to  think  of  them,  and  he 
was  not  a  man  to  stick  at  trifles  when  money  was  in 
view.  When  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp, 
the  stranger  paused.  "What  proof  have  I  that  all  you 
have  been  telling  me  is  true?"  said  Tom.  "There's  my 
signature,"  said  the  black  man,  pressing  his  finger  on 

[34] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

Tom's  forehead.  So  saying,  he  turned  off  among  the 
thickets  of  the  swamp,  and  seemed,  as  Tom  said,  to  go 
down,  down,  down,  into  the  earth,  until  nothing  but  his 
head  and  shoulders  could  be  seen,  and  so  on,  until  he 
totally  disappeared. 

When  Tom  reached  home,  he  found  the  black  print 
of  a  finger  burnt,  as  it  were,  into  his  forehead,  which 
nothing  could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him  was  the  sud- 
den death  of  Absalom  Crowninshield,  the  rich  bucca- 
neer. It  was  announced  in  the  papers  with  the  usual 
flourish,  that  "A  great  man  had  fallen  in  Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his  black  friend  had 
just  hewn  down,  and  which  was  ready  for  burning. 
**Let  the  freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "who  cares!"  He 
now  felt  convinced  that  all  he  had  heard  and  seen  was 
no  illusion. 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into  his  confidence; 
but  as  this  was  an  uneasy  secret,  he  willingly  shared  it 
with  her.  All  her  avarice  was  awakened  at  the  mention 
of  hidden  gold,  and  she  urged  her  husband  to  comply 
with  the  black  man's  terms,  and  secure  what  would  make 
them  wealthy  for  life.  However  Tom  might  have  felt 
disposed  to  sell  himself  to  the  Devil,  he  was  determined 
not  to  do  so  to  oblige  his  wife;  so  he  flatly  refused,  out 
of  the  mere  spirit  of  contradiction.  Many  and  bitter 
were  the  quarrels  they  had  on  the  subject;  but  the  more 
she  talked,  the  more  resolute  was  Tom  not  to  be  damned 
to  please  her. 

At  length  she  determined  to  drive  the  bargain  on  her 
own  account,  and  if  she  succeeded,  to  keep  all  the  gain 

[35] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


to  herself.  Being  of  the  same  fearless  temper  as  her 
husband,  she  set  off  for  the  old  Indian  fort  towards  the 
close  of  a  summer's  day.  She  was  many  hours  absent. 
When  she  came  back,  she  was  reserved  and  sullen  in  her 
replies.  She  spoke  something  of  a  black  man,  whom 
she  had  met  about  twilight  hewing  at  the  root  of  a  tall 
tree.  He  was  sulky,  however,  and  would  not  come  to 
terms:  she  was  to  go  again  with  a  propitiatory  offer- 
ing, but  what  it  was  she  forbore  to  say. 

The  next  evening  she  set  off  again  for  the  swamp,  with 
her  apron  heavily  laden.  Tom  waited  and  waited  for 
her,  but  in  vain;  midnight  came,  but  she  did  not  make 
her  appearance:  morning,  noon,  night  returned,  but  still 
she  did  not  come.  Tom  now  grew  uneasy  for  her  safety, 
especially  as  he  found  she  had  carried  off  in  her  apron 
the  silver  tea-pot  and  spoons,  and  every  portable  article 
of  value.  Another  night  elapsed,  another  morning 
came;  but  no  wife.  In  a  word,  she  was  never  heard  of 
more. 

What  was  her  real  fate  nobody  knows,  in  consequence 
of  so  many  pretending  to  know.  It  is  one  of  those 
facts  which  have  become  confounded  by  a  variety  of 
historians.  Some  asserted  that  she  lost  her  way  among 
the  tangled  mazes  of  the  swamp,  and  sank  into  some 
pit  or  slough;  others,  more  charitable,  hinted  that  she 
had  eloped  with  the  household  booty,  and  made  off  to 
some  other  province;  while  others  surmised  that  the 
tempter  had  decoyed  her  into  a  dismal  quagmire,  on  the 
top  of  which  her  hat  was  found  lying.  In  confirmation 
of  this,  it  was  said  a  great  black  man,  with  an  ax  on  his 
shoulder,  was  seen  late  that  very  evening  coming  out  of 

[36] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

the  swamp,  carrying  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron, 
with  an  air  of  surly  triumph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story,  however,  ob- 
serves, that  Tom  Walker  grew  so  anxious  about  the  fate 
of  his  wife  and  his  property,  that  he  set  out  at  length  to 
seek  them  both  at  the  Indian  fort.  During  a  long  sum- 
mer's afternoon  he  searched  about  the  gloomy  place, 
but  no  wife  was  to  be  seen.  He  called  her  name  repeat- 
edly, but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  heard.  The  bittern 
alone  responded  to  his  voice,  as  he  flew  screaming  by; 
or  the  bull-frog  croaked  dolefully  from  a  neighbouring 
pool.  At  length,  it  is  said,  just  in  the  brown  hour  of 
twilight,  when  the  owls  began  to  hoot,  and  the  bats  to 
flit  about,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  clamour 
of  carrion  crows  hovering  about  a  cypress-tree.  He 
looked  up,  and  beheld  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron, 
and  hanging  in  the  branches  of  the  tree,  with  a  great 
vulture  perched  hard  by,  as  if  keeping  watch  upon  it. 
He  leaped  with  joy;  for  he  recognized  his  wife's  apron, 
and  supposed  it  to  contain  the  household  valuables. 

"Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property,"  said  he,  consol- 
ingly to  himself,  "and  we  will  endeavour  to  do  without 
the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree,  the  vulture  spread  its 
wide  wings,  and  sailed  off",  screaming,  into  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  forest.  Tom  seized  the  checked  apron, 
but,  woeful  sight!  found  nothing  but  a  heart  and  liver 
tied  up  in  it! 

Such,  according  to  this  most  authentic  old  story,  was 
all  that  was  to  be  found  of  Tom's  wife.  She  had  prob- 
ably attempted  to  deal  with  the  black  man  as  she  had 

[37] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


been  accustomed  to  deal  with  her  husband;  but  though 
a  female  scold  is  generally  considered  a  match  for  the 
devil,  yet  in  this  instance  she  appears  to  have  had  the 
worst  of  it.  She  must  have  died  game,  however;  for 
it  is  said  Tom  noticed  many  prints  of  cloven  feet  deeply 
stamped  about  the  tree,  and  found  handfuls  of  hair,  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  plucked  from  the  coarse 
black  shock  of  the  woodman.  Tom  knew  his  wife's 
prowess  by  experience.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as 
he  looked  at  the  signs  of  a  fierce  clapper-clawing, 
"Egad,"  said  he  to  himself,  "Old  Scratch  must  have 
had  a  tough  time  of  it!" 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  property, 
with  the  loss  of  his  wife,  for  he  was  a  man  of  fortitude. 
He  even  felt  something  like  gratitude  towards  the  black 
woodman,  who,  he  considered,  had  done  him  a  kindness. 
He  sought,  therefore,  to  cultivate  a  further  acquaintance 
with  him,  but  for  some  time  without  success;  the  old 
black-legs  played  shy,  for  whatever  people  may  think, 
he  is  not  always  to  be  had  for  calling  for:  he  knows  how 
to  play  his  cards  when  pretty  sure  of  his  game. 

At  length,  it  is  said,  when  delay  had  whetted  Tom's 
eagerness  to  the  quick,  and  prepared  him  to  agree  to 
anything  rather  than  not  gain  the  promised  treasure,  he 
met  the  black  man  one  evening  in  his  usual  woodman's 
dress,  with  his  ax  on  his  shoulder,  sauntering  along  the 
swamp,  and  humming  a  tune.  He  affected  to  receive 
Tom's  advances  with  great  indifference,  made  brief  re- 
plies, and  went  on  humming  his  tune. 

Bv  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought  him  to  business, 
and  they  began  to  haggle  about  the  terms  on  which  the 

[38] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

former  was  to  have  the  pirate's  treasure.  There  was 
one  condition  which  need  not  be  mentioned,  being  gen- 
erally understood  in  all  cases  where  the  devil  grants 
favours;  but  there  were  others  about  which,  though  of 
less  importance,  he  was  inflexibly  obstinate.  He  in- 
sisted that  the  money  found  through  his  means  should  be 
employed  in  his  service.  He  proposed,  therefore,  that 
Tom  should  employ  it  in  the  black  traffic;  that  is  to  say, 
that  he  should  fit  out  a  slave-ship.  This,  however,  Tom 
resolutely  refused:  he  was  bad  enough  in  all  conscience; 
but  the  devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  to  turn  slave- 
trader. 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this  point,  he  did  not 
insist  upon  it,  but  proposed,  instead,  that  he  should 
turn  usurer;  the  devil  being  extremely  anxious  for  the 
increase  of  usurers,  looking  upon  them  as  his  peculiar 
people. 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for  it  was  just  to 
Tom's  taste. 

"You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in  Boston  next 
month,"  said  the  black  man. 

"I'll  do  it  tomorrow,  if  you  wish,"  said  Tom  Walker. 

"You  shall  lend  money  at  two  per  cent,  a  month." 

"Egad,  I'll  charge  four!"  replied  Tom  Walker. 

"You  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose  mortgages,  drive 
the  merchants  to  bankruptcy" — 

"I'll  drive  them  to  the  d— 1,"  cried  Tom  Walker. 

"You  are  the  usurer  for  my  money!"  said  black-legs 
with  delight.     "When  will  you  want  the  rhino?" 

"This  very  night." 

"Done!"  said  the  devil. 

[39] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Done!"  said  Tom  Walker. — So  they  shook  hands 
and  struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker  seated  behind  his 
desk  in  a  counting-house  in  Boston. 

His  reputation  for  a  ready-moneyed  man,  who  would 
lend  money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon  spread 
abroad.  Everybody  remembers  the  time  of  Governor 
Belcher,  when  money  was  particularly  scarce.  It  was 
a  time  of  paper  credit.  The  country  had  been  deluged 
with  government  bills,  the  famous  Land  Bank  had  been 
established;  there  had  been  a  rage  for  speculating;  the 
people  had  run  mad  with  schemes  for  new  settlements; 
for  building  cities  in  the  wilderness;  land-jobbers  went 
about  with  maps  of  grants,  and  townships,  and  Eldora- 
dos,  lying  nobody  knew  where,  but  which  everybody 
was  ready  to  purchase.  In  a  word,  the  great  speculat- 
ing fever  which  breaks  out  every  now  and  then  in  the 
country,  had  raged  to  an  alarming  degree,  and  every- 
body was  dreaming  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from 
nothing.  As  usual  the  fever  had  subsided;  the  dream 
had  gone  off,  and  the  imaginary  fortunes  with  it;  the 
patients  were  left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole  coun- 
try resounded  with  the  consequent  cry  of  "hard  times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  distress  did  Tom 
Walker  set  up  as  usurer  in  Boston.  His  door  was  soon 
thronged  by  customers.  The  needy  and  adventurous; 
the  gambling  speculator;  the  dreaming  land-jobber;  the 
thriftless  tradesman:  the  merchant  with  cracked  credit; 
in  short,  every  one  driven  to  raise  money  by  desperate 
means  and  desperate  sacrifices,  hurried  to  Tom  Walker. 

Thus  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of  the  needy,  and 

[40] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

acted  like  a  "friend  in  need";  that  is  to  say,  he  always 
exacted  good  pay  and  good  security.  In  proportion  to 
the  distress  of  the  applicant  was  the  hardness  of  his 
terms.  He  accumulated  bonds  and  mortgages;  gradu- 
ally squeezed  his  customers  closer  and  closer:  and  sent 
them  at  length,  dry  as  a  sponge,  from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  hand  over  hand;  became 
a  rich  and  mighty  man,  and  exalted  his  cocked  hat  upon 
'Change.  He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast  house,  out 
of  ostentation;  but  left  the  greater  part  of  it  unfinished 
and  unfurnished,  out  of  parsimony.  He  even  set  up  a 
carriage  in  the  fulness  of  his  vainglory,  though  he  nearly 
starved  the  horses  which  drew  it;  and  as  the  ungreased 
wheels  groaned  and  screeched  on  the  axle-trees,  you 
would  have  thought  you  heard  the  souls  of  the  poor 
debtors  he  was  squeezing. 

As  Tom  waxed  old,  however,  he  grew  thoughtful. 
Having  secured  the  good  things  of  this  world,  he  began 
to  feel  anxious  about  those  of  the  next.  He  thought 
with  regret  on  the  bargain  he  had  made  with  his  black 
friend,  and  set  his  wits  to  work  to  cheat  him  out  of  the 
conditions.  He  became,  therefore,  all  of  a  sudden,  a 
violent  church-goer.  He  prayed  loudlv  and  strenu- 
ously, as  if  heaven  were  to  be  taken  by  force  of  lungs. 
Indeed,  one  might  always  tell  when  he  had  sinned  most 
during  the  week,  by  the  clamour  of  his  Sunday  devotion. 
The  quiet  Christians  who  had  been  modestly  and  stead- 
fastly travelling  Zionward,  were  struck  with  self-re- 
proach at  seeing  themselves  so  suddenly  outstripped  in 
their  career  by  this  new-made  convert.  Tom  was  as 
rigid  in  religious  as  in  money  matters;  he  was  a  stem 

[41] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


supervisor  and  censurer  of  his  neighbours,  and  seemed  to 
think  every  sin  entered  up  to  their  account  became  a 
credit  on  his  own  side  of  the  page.  He  even  talked  of 
the  expediency  of  reviving  the  persecution  of  Quakers 
and  Anabaptists.  In  a  word,  Tom's  zeal  became  as  no- 
torious as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this  strenuous  attention  to  forms, 
Tom  had  a  lurking  dread  that  the  devil,  after  all,  would 
have  his  due.  That  he  might  not  be  taken  unawares, 
therefore,  it  is  said  he  always  carried  a  small  Bible  in 
his  coat-pocket.  He  had  also  a  great  folio  Bible  on  his 
counting-house  desk,  and  would  frequently  be  found 
reading  it  when  people  called  on  business;  on  such  oc- 
casions he  would  lay  his  green  spectacles  in  the  book,  to 
mark  the  place,  while  he  turned  round  to  drive  some 
usurious  bargain. 

Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little  crack-brained  in  his 
old  days,  and  that,  fancying  his  end  approaching,  he 
had  his  horse  new  shod,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  buried 
with  his  feet  uppermost;  because  he  supposed  that  at 
the  last  day  the  world  would  be  turned  upside  down;  in 
which  case  he  should  find  his  horse  standing  ready  for 
mounting,  and  he  was  determined  at  the  worst  to  give 
his  old  friend  a  run  for  it.  This,  however,  is  probably 
a  mere  old  wives'  fable.  If  he  really  did  take  such  a 
precaution,  it  was  totally  superfluous;  at  least  so  says 
the  authentic  old  legend;  which  closes  his  story  in  the 
following  manner. 

One  hot  summer  afternoon  in  the  dog-days,  just  as 
a  terrible  black  thunder-gust  was  coming  up,  Tom  sat 
in  his  counting-house,  in  his  white  linen  cap  and  India 

[42] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

silk  morning- gown.  He  was  on  the  point  of  foreclosing 
a  mortgage,  by  which  he  would  complete  the  ruin  of 
an  unlucky  land-speculator  for  whom  he  had  professed 
the  greatest  friendship.  The  poor  land-jobber  begged 
him  to  grant  a  few  months'  indulgence.  Tom  had 
grown  testy  and  irritated,  and  refused  another  day. 

"My  family  will  be  ruined,  and  brought  upon  the 
parish,"  said  the  land-jobber.  "Charity  begins  at 
home,"  replied  Tom;  "I  must  take  care  of  myself  in 
these  hard  times." 

"You  have  made  so  much  money  out  of  me,"  said  the 
speculator. 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety.  "The  devil  take 
me,"  said  he,  ''if  I  have  made  a  farthing!" 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks  at  the  street- 
door.  He  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  there.  A  black 
man  was  holding  a  black  horse,  which  neighed  and 
stamped  with  impatience. 

"Tom,  you're  come  for,"  said  the  black  fellow, 
gruffly.  Tom  shrank  back,  but  too  late.  He  had  left 
his  little  Bible  at  the  bottom  of  his  coat-pocket,  and  his 
big  Bible  on  the  desk  buried  under  the  mortgage  he  was 
about  to  foreclose:  never  was  sinner  taken  more  un- 
awares. The  black  man  whisked  him  like  a  child  into 
the  saddle,  gave  the  horse  the  lash,  and  away  he  gal- 
loped, with  Tom  on  his  back,  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder- 
storm. The  clerks  stuck  their  pens  behind  their  ears, 
and  stared  after  him  from  the  windows.  Away  went 
Tom  Walker,  dashing  down  the  street;  his  white  cap 
bobbing  up  and  down;  his  morning-gown  fluttering  in 
the  wind,  and  his  steed  striking  fire  out  of  the  pavement 

[43] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


at  every  bound.  When  the  clerks  turned  to  look  for 
the  black  man,  he  had  disappeared. 

Tom  Walker  never  returned  to  foreclose  the  mort- 
gage. A  countryman,  who  lived  on  the  border  of  the 
swamp,  reported  that  in  the  height  of  the  thunder-gust 
he  had  heard  a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  and  a  howling 
along  the  road,  and  running  to  the  window  caught  sight 
of  a  figure,  such  as  I  have  described,  on  a  horse  that 
galloped  like  mad  across  the  fields,  over  the  hills,  and 
down  into  the  black  hemlock  swamp  towards  the  old 
Indian  fort;  and  that  shortly  after  a  thunder-bolt  falling 
in  that  direction  seemed  to  set  the  whole  forest  in  a  blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their  heads  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  had  been  so  much  accus- 
tomed to  witches  and  goblins,  and  tricks  of  the  devil,  in 
all  kinds  of  shapes,  from  the  first  settlement  of  the  col- 
ony, that  they  were  not  so  much  horror-struck  as  might 
have  been  expected.  Trustees  were  appointed  to  take 
charge  of  Tom's  effects.  There  was  nothing,  however, 
to  administer  upon.  On  searching  his  coffers,  all  his 
bonds  and  mortgages  were  found  reduced  to  cinders. 
In  place  of  gold  and  silver,  his  iron  chest  was  filled  with 
chips  and  shavings;  two  skeletons  lay  in  his  stable  in- 
stead of  his  half -starved  horses,  and  the  very  next  day 
his  great  house  took  fire  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Tom  Walker  and  his  ill-gotten 
wealth.  Let  all  griping  money-brokers  lay  this  story 
to  heart.  The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be  doubted.  The 
very  hole  under  the  oak-trees,  whence  he  dug  Kidd's 
money,  is  to  be  seen  to  this  day;  and  the  neighbouring 
swamp  and  old  Indian  fort  are  often  haunted  in  stormy 

[44] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

nights  by  a  figure  on  horseback,  in  morning-gown  and 
white  cap,  which  is  doubtless  the  troubled  spirit  of  the 
usurer.  In  fact,  the  story  has  resolved  itself  into  a 
proverb,  and  is  the  origin  of  that  popular  saying,  so 
prevalent  throughout  New  England,  of  "The  Devil  and 
Tom  Walker." 


[45] 


FROM   THE   MEMOIRS    OF   SATAN 
BY    WILHELM    HAUFF 

In  this  way  the  jovial  stranger  had  kept  myself,  and 
twelve  or  fifteen  other  gentlemen  and  ladies  (our  fellow 
guests),  in  a  perpetual  whirl  of  delight.  Scarcely  any 
had  any  special  business  to  detain  them  at  the  hotel, 
and  yet  none  ventured  to  entertain  the  mere  idea  of  de- 
parture, even  at  a  distant  day.  On  the  other  hand,  after 
we  had  slept  for  some  time  late  on  mornings,  sat  long 
at  dinner,  sung  and  played  long  of  evenings,  and  drank, 
chatted,  and  laughed  long  of  nights,  the  magic  tie  which 
bound  us  to  this  hotel  seemed  to  have  woven  new  chains 
around  us. 

This  intoxication,  however,  was  soon  to  be  put  an  end 
to,  perhaps  for  our  good.  On  the  seventh  day  of  our 
rejoicings,  a  Sunday,  our  friend  Von  Natas  was  not  to 
be  found  anywhere.  The  waiters  gave  as  his  apology 
a  short  journey;  he  could  not  return  before  sunset,  but 
would  certainly  be  in  time  for  tea  and  supper. 

The  enjoyment  of  his  society  had  already  become  such 
a  necessity,  that  this  piece  of  information  made  us  help- 
less and  ill  at  ease. 

The  conversation  turned  naturally  on  our  absent 
friend  and  his  striking,  brilliant  apparition  among  us. 
It  was  strange,  but  I  could  not  get  it  out  of  my  head  that 
I  had  already  met  with  him  in  my  walk  through  life,  but 

[46] 


FROM     THE     MEMOIRS     OF     SATAN 

in  a  different  shape;  and,  absurd  as  the  idea  was,  it  still 
forced  itself  irresistibly  on  my  mind  once  and  again.  I 
called  to  mind,  from  years  long  gone  by,  the  recollection 
of  a  man  who  in  his  whole  demeanour,  but  more  espe- 
cially in  his  glance,  had  the  greatest  resemblance  to  him. 
The  one  of  whom  I  now  speak  was  a  foreign  physician, 
who  occasionally  visited  my  native  town,  and  there  lived 
at  first  in  great  retirement,  though  he  soon  found  a  crowd 
of  worshippers  collected  around  him.  The  thought  of 
this  man  was  always  a  melancholy  one,  for  it  was  as- 
serted that  some  serious  misfortune  always  followed  his 
visits;  still  I  could  not  shake  off  the  idea  that  Natas  re- 
sembled him  strikingly,  in  fact  that  he  was  one  and  the 
same  person. 

I  mentioned  to  my  next  neighbour  at  table  the  idea 
that  incessantly  haunted  me,  and  how  unpleasant  it  was 
to  identify  so  horrible  a  being  as  the  stranger  who  had 
so  afflicted  my  native  city,  with  our  mutual  friend  who 
had  so  fully  gained  my  esteem  and  affection;  but  it  will 
seem  still  more  incredible  when  I  assure  my  readers  that 
all  my  neighbours  were  full  of  precisely  the  same  idea, 
and  that  all  fancied  they  had  seen  our  agreeable  com- 
panion in  some  entirely  different  shape. 

"You  are  enough  to  make  one  downright  melancholy," 
said  Baroness  von  Thingen,  who  sat  near  me;  "you 
make  our  friend  Natas  out  to  be  the  Wandering  Jew,  or 
God  knows  what  more!" 

A  little  old  man,  a  professor  in  Tibsingen,  who  had 
joined  our  circle  some  days  before,  and  passed  his  time 
in  quiet,  silent  enjoyment,  enlivened  by  an  occasional 
deep  conference  with  the  Rhine  wine,  had  kept  smiling 

[47] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


to  himself  during  what  he  called  our  "comparative 
anatomy,"  and  twirling  his  huge  snuff-box  between  his 
fingers  with  such  skilful  rapidity,  that  it  revolved  like 
a  coach-wheel. 

"I  cannot  longer  refrain  from  a  remark  I  wished  to 
make,"  exclaimed  he  at  last.  "Under  your  favour, 
gracious  lady,  I  do  not  look  upon  him  as  being  pre- 
cisely the  Wandering  Jew,  but  still  as  being  a  very 
strange  mortal.  As  long  as  he  was  present,  the  thought 
would,  it  is  true,  now  and  then  flash  up  in  my  mind, 
'You  have  seen  this  man  before,  but  pray  where  was 
it?'  but  these  recollections  were  driven  away  as  if  by 
magic  whenever  he  fastened  upon  me  those  dark  wan- 
dering eyes  of  his." 

"So  was  it  with  me — and  with  me — and  with  me,"  ex- 
claimed we  all  in  astonishment. 

"Hem!  hem!"  smiled  the  Professor.  "Even  now  the 
scales  seem  to  fall  from  my  eyes,  and  I  see  that  he  is 
the  very  same  person  I  saw  in  Stuttgart  twelve  years 
ago." 

"What,  you  have  seen  him  then,  and  in  what  circum- 
stances?" asked  Lady  von  Thingen  eagerly,  and  almost 
blushed  at  the  eagerness  she  displayed. 

The  Professor  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  shook  the  super- 
fluous grains  off  his  waistcoat,  and  answered — "It  may 
be  now  about  twelve  years  since  I  was  forced  by  a  law- 
suit to  spend  some  months  in  Stuttgart.  I  lived  at  one 
of  the  best  hotels,  and  generally  dined  with  a  large 
company  at  the  table  d'hote.  Once  upon  a  time  I  made 
my  first  appearance  at  table  after  a  lapse  of  several 
days,  during  which  I  had  been  forced  to  keep  my  room. 

[48] 


FROM     THE     MEMOIRS     OF     SATAN 

The  company  were  talking  very  eagerly  about  a  certain 
Signor  Barighi,  who  for  some  time  past  had  been  de- 
lighting the  other  visitors  with  his  lively  wit,  and  his 
fluency  in  all  languages.  All  were  unanimous  in  his 
praise,  but  they  could  not  exactly  agree  as  to  his  oc- 
cupation; some  making  him  out  a  diplomatist,  others  a 
teacher  of  languages,  a  third  party  a  distinguished  po- 
litical exile,  and  a  fourth  a  spy  of  the  police.  The 
door  opened,  all  seemed  silent,  even  confused,  at  hav- 
ing carried  on  the  dispute  in  so  loud  a  tone;  I  judged 
that  the  person  spoken  of  must  be  among  us,  and  saw — " 

"Who,  pray?" 

"Under  favour,  the  same  person  who  has  amused  us 
so  agreeably  for  some  days  past.  There  was  nothing 
supernatural  in  this,  to  be  sure,  but  listen  a  moment; 
for  two  days  Signor  Barighi,  as  the  stranger  was  called, 
had  given  a  new  relish  to  our  meals  by  his  brilliant  con- 
versation, when  mine  host  interrupted  us  suddenly — 
'Gentlemen,'  said  he,  'prepare  yourself  for  an  unique 
entertainment  which  will  be  provided  for  you  tomor- 
row.' 

"We  asked  what  this  meant,  and  a  grey  headed  cap- 
tain, who  had  presided  at  the  hotel  table  many  years,  in- 
formed us  of  the  joke  as  follows — 'Exactly  opposite 
this  dining  room,  an  old  bachelor  lives,  solitary  and 
alone,  in  a  large  deserted  house;  he  is  a  retired  Coun- 
sellor of  State — lives  on  a  handsome  premium,  and 
has  an  enormous  fortune  besides.  He  is,  however,  a 
downright  fool,  and  has  some  of  the  strangest  peculiar- 
ities; thus,  for  instance,  he  often  gives  himself  enter- 
tainments on  a  scale  of  extravagant  luxury.     He  orders 

[49] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


covers  for  twelve,  from  the  hotel,  he  has  excellent  wines 
in  his  cellar,  and  one  or  the  other  of  our  waiters  has 
the  honour  to  attend  table.  You  think,  perhaps,  that  at 
these  feasts  he  feeds  the  hungry,  and  gives  drink  to  the 
thirsty — no  such  thing;  on  the  chairs  lie  old  yellow 
leaves  of  parchment,  from  the  family  record,  and  the 
old  hunks  is  as  jovial  as  if  he  had  the  merriest  set  of 
fellows  around  him;  he  talks  and  laughs  with  them, 
and  the  whole  thing  is  said  to  be  so  fearful  to  look 
upon,  that  the  youngest  waiters  are  always  sent  over, 
for  whoever  has  been  to  one  such  supper  will  enter 
the  deserted  house  no  more. 

"The  day  before  yesterday  he  had  a  supper,  and  our 
new  waiter,  Frank,  there,  calls  heaven  and  earth  to 
witness  that  nobody  shall  ever  induce  him  to  go  there  a 
second  time.  The  next  day  after  the  entertainment 
comes  the  Counsellor's  second  freak.  Early  in  the 
morning  he  leaves  the  city,  and  comes  back  the  morn- 
ing after;  not,  however,  to  his  own  house,  which  during 
this  time  is  fast  locked  and  bolted,  but  into  this  hotel. 
Here  he  treats  people  he  has  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
for  a  whole  year,  as  strangers;  dines,  and  afterwards 
places  himself  at  one  of  the  windows,  and  examines  his 
own  house  across  the  way  from  top  to  bottom. 

"  'Who  does  that  house  opposite  belong  to?'  he  then 
asks  the  host. 

"The  other  regularly  bows  and  answers,  'It  belongs  to 
the  Counsellor  of  State,  Hasentreffer,  at  your  Excel- 
lency's service.'  " 

"But,  Professor,"  here  observed  I,  "what  has  this  silly 
Hasentreffer  of  yours  to  do  with  our  Natas?" 

[50] 


FROM     THE     MEMOIRS     OF     SATAN 

"A  moment's  patience,  Doctor,"  answered  the  Profes- 
sor, "the  light  will  soon  break  in  upon  you.  Hasen- 
trefFer  then  examines  the  house,  and  learns  that  it  be- 
longs to  HasentrefFer.  'Oh,  what!'  he  asks,  'the  same 
that  was  a  student  with  me  at  Tibsingen' — then  throws 
open  the  window,  stretches  his  powdered  head  out,  and 
calls  out — 'Ha-asentreff er — Ha-asentreflf er ! ' 

"Of  course  no  one  answers,  but  he  remarks:  'The  old 
fellow  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  was  not  to  look  in 
on  him  for  a  moment,'  then  takes  up  his  hat  and  cane, 
unlocks  his  own  house,  goes  in,  and  all  goes  on  after  as 
before. 

"All  of  us,"  the  Professor  proceeded  in  his  story, 
"were  greatly  astonished  at  this  singular  story,  and 
highly  delighted  at  the  idea  of  the  next  day's  merriment. 
Signor  Barighi,  however,  obliged  us  to  promise  that  we 
would  not  betray  him,  as  he  said  he  was  preparing  a 
capital  joke  to  play  off  on  the  Counsellor. 

"We  all  met  at  the  table  d'hote  earlier  than  usual, 
and  besieged  the  windows.  An  old  tumble  down  car- 
riage, drawn  by  two  blind  steeds,  came  crawling  down 
the  street;  it  stopped  before  the  hotel.  There's  Hasen- 
trefFer, there's  HasentrefFer,  was  echoed  by  every 
mouth;  and  we  were  filled  with  extravagant  merriment 
when  we  saw  the  little  man  get  out,  neatly  powdered, 
dressed  in  an  iron  grey  surtout  with  a  huge  meerschaum 
in  hand.  An  escort  of  at  least  ten  servants  followed  him 
in,  and  in  this  guise  he  entered  the  dining-room. 

"We  sat  down  at  once.  I  have  seldom  laughed  as 
much  as  I  did  then;  for  the  old  chap  insisted,  with  the 
greatest  coolness,  that  he  came  direct  from  Carrel,  and 

[51] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


that  he  had  six  days  before  been  extremely  well  enter- 
tained at  the  Swan  Inn  at  Frankfort.  Barighi  must 
have  disappeared  before  the  dessert,  for  when  the  Coun- 
sellor left  the  table,  and  the  other  guests,  full  of  curi- 
osity, imitated  his  example,  Barighi  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

"The  Counsellor  took  his  seat  at  the  window;  we  all 
followed  his  example  and  watched  his  movements. 
The  house  opposite  seemed  desolate  and  uninhabited. 
Grass  grew  on  the  threshold,  the  shutters  were  closed, 
and  on  some  of  them  birds  seemed  to  have  built  their 
nests. 

"  'A  fine  house  that,  opposite,'  said  the  old  man  to 
our  host,  who  kept  standing  behind  him  in  the  third 
position.     'Who  does  it  belong  to?' 

"  'To  the  Counsellor  of  State,  Hasentreffer,  at  your 
Excellency's  service.' 

"  'Ah,  indeed!  that  must  be  the  same  one  that  was  a 
fellow-student  with  me,'  exclaimed  he;  'he  would  never 
forgive  me  if  I  was  not  to  inform  him  that  I  was  here.' 
He  opened  the  window, — 'Ha-asentreffer — Hasentref- 
fer!' cried  he,  in  a  hoarse  voice.  But  who  can  paint 
our  terror,  when  opposite,  in  the  empty  house,  which 
we  knew  was  firmly  locked  and  bolted,  a  window-shut- 
ter was  slowly  raised,  a  window  opened,  and  out  of  it 
peered  the  Counsellor  of  State,  Hasentreffer,  in  his 
chintz  morning-gown  and  white  nightcap,  under  which 
a  f  e^v  thin  grey  locks  were  visible ;  this,  this  exactly,  was 
his  usual  morning  costume.  Down  to  the  minutest 
wrinkle  on  the  pallid  visage,  the  figure  across  the  street 
was  precisely  the  same  as  the  one  that  stood  by  our 

[52] 


FROM     THE     MEMOIRS     OF     SATAN 

side.  But  a  panic  seized  us,  when  the  figure  in  the 
morning-gown  called  out  across  the  street,  in  just  the 
same  hoarse  voice,  'What  do  you  want?  who  are  you 
calling  to,  hey?' 

"  'Are  you  the  Counsellor  of  State,  HasentrefFer?' 
said  the  one  on  our  side  of  the  way,  pale  as  death,  in  a 
trembling  voice,  and  quaking  as  he  leaned  against  the 
window  for  support. 

"  'I'm  the  man,'  squeaked  the  other,  and  nodded  his 
head  in  a  friendly  way;  'have  you  any  commands  for 
me?' 

"  'But  I'm  the  man  too,'  said  our  friend  mournfully, 
'how  can  it  be  possible?' 

"  'You  are  mistaken,  my  dear  friend,'  answered  he 
across  the  way,  'you  are  the  thirteenth,  be  good  enough 
just  to  step  across  the  street  to  my  house,  and  let  me 
twist  your  neck  for  you!  it  is  by  no  means  painful.' 

"  'Waiter!  my  hat  and  stick,'  said  the  Counsellor, 
pale  as  death,  and  his  voice  escaped  in  mournful  tones 
from  his  hollow  chest.  'The  devil  is  in  my  house  and 
seeks  my  soul;  a  pleasant  evening  to  you,  gentlemen,' 
added  he,  turning  to  us  with  a  polite  bow,  and  thereupon 
left  the  room. 

"  'What  does  this  mean?'  we  asked  each  other;  'are 
we  all  beside  ourselves?' 

"The  gentleman  in  the  morning-gown  kept  looking 
quietly  out  of  the  window,  while  our  good  silly  old 
friend  crossed  the  street  at  his  usual  formal  pace.  At 
the  front-door,  he  pulled  a  huge  bunch  of  keys  out  of 
his  pocket,  unlocked  the  heavy  creaking  door — he  of  the 
morning-gown  looking  carelessly  on,  and  walked  in. 

[53] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"The  latter  now  withdrew  from  the  window,  and  we 
saw  him  go  forward  to  meet  our  acquaintance  at  the 
room-door. 

"Our  host  and  the  ten  waiters  were  all  pale  with  fear, 
and  trembled.  'Gentlemen,'  said  the  former,  'God 
pity  poor  HasentrefFer,  for  one  of  those  two  must  be 
the  devil  in  human  shape.'  We  laughed  at  our  host, 
and  tried  to  persuade  ourselves  that  it  was  a  joke  of 
Barighi's;  but  our  host  assured  us  that  no  one  could 
have  obtained  access  to  the  house  except  he  was  in  pos- 
session of  the  Counsellor's  very  artificially  contrived 
keys;  also,  that  Barighi  was  seated  at  table  not  ten 
minutes  before  the  prodigy  happened;  how  then  could 
he  have  disguised  himself  so  completely  in  so  short  a 
time,  even  supposing  him  to  have  known  how  to  unlock 
a  strange  house?  He  added,  that  the  two  were  so  fear- 
fully like  one  another,  that  he  who  had  lived  in  the 
neighbourhood  for  twenty  years  could  not  distinguish 
the  true  one  from  the  counterfeit.  'But,  for  God's 
sake,  gentlemen,  do  you  not  hear  the  horrid  shrieks 
opposite?' 

"We  rushed  to  the  window — terrible  and  fearful 
voices  rang  across  from  the  empty  house ;  we  fancied  we 
saw  the  old  Counsellor,  pursued  by  his  image  in  the 
morning-gown,  hurry  past  the  window  repeatedly.  On 
a  sudden  all  was  quiet. 

"We  gazed  on  each  other;  the  boldest  among  us  pro- 
posed to  cross  over  to  the  house — we  all  agreed  to  it. 
We  crossed  the  street — the  huge  bell  at  the  old  man's 
door  was  rung  thrice,  but  nothing  could  be  heard  in 
answer;  we  sent  to  the  police  and  to  a  blacksmith's — 

[54] 


FROM     THE     MEMOIRS     OF     SATAN 

the  door  was  broken  open,  the  whole  tide  of  anxious 
visitors  poured  up  the  wide  silent  staircase — all  the 
doors  were  fastened;  at  length  one  was  opened.  In  a 
splendid  apartment,  the  Counsellor,  his  iron-grey  frock- 
coat  torn  to  pieces,  his  neatly  dressed  hair  in  horrible 
disorder,  lay  dead,  strangled,  on  the  sofa. 

"Since  that  time  no  traces  of  Barighi  have  been  found, 
neither  in  Stuttgart  nor  elsewhere." 


[55] 


ST.   JOHN'S   EVE^ 
BY   NIKOLAI   VASILEVICH   GOGOL 

Thoma  Grigorovich  had  a  very  strange  sort  of  ec- 
centricity: to  the  day  of  his  death,  he  never  liked  to  tell 
the  same  thing  twice.  There  were  times,  when,  if  you 
asked  him  to  relate  a  thing  afresh,  behold,  he  would  in- 
terpolate new  matter,  or  alter  it  so  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  recognize  it.  Once  on  a  time,  one  of  those 
gentlemen  (it  is  hard  for  us  simple  people  to  put  a 
name  to  them,  to  say  whether  they  are  scribblers,  or  not 
scribblers :  but  it  is  just  the  same  thing  as  the  usurers  at 
our  yearly  fairs;  they  clutch  and  beg  and  steal  every 
sort  of  frippery,  and  issue  mean  little  volumes,  no 
thicker  than  an  A  B  C  book,  every  month,  or  even  every 
week), — one  of  these  gentlemen  wormed  this  same  story 
out  of  Thoma  Grigorovich,  and  he  completely  forgot 
about  it.  But  that  same  young  gentleman  in  the  pea- 
green  caftan,  whom  I  have  mentioned,  and  one  of 
whose  tales  you  have  already  read,  I  think,  came  from 
Poltava,  bringing  with  him  a  little  book,  and,  open- 
ing it  in  the  middle,  shows  it  to  us.  Thoma  Grigorovich 
was  on  the  point  of  setting  his  spectacles  astride  of  his 
nose,  but  recollected  that  he  had  forgotten  to  wind  thread 

1  From  St.  John's  Eve  and  Other  Stories,  translated  by  Isabel  F.  Hap- 
good  from  the  Russian  of  N.  V.  Gogol.  (Copyright,  1886,  by  Thomas 
Y.  Crowell  &  Co.    By  permission  of  the  Publishers.) 

[56] 


ST.    John's   eve 


about  them,  and  stick  them  together  with  wax,  so  he 
passed  it  over  to  me.  As  I  understand  something  about 
reading  and  writing,  and  do  not  wear  spectacles,  I  un- 
dertook to  read  it.  I  had  not  turned  two  leaves,  when 
all  at  once  he  caught  me  by  the  hand,  and  stopped  me. 

"Stop!  tell  me  first  what  you  are  reading." 

I  confess  that  I  was  a  trifle  stunned  by  such  a  ques- 
tion. 

"What!  what  am  I  reading,  Thoma  Grigorovich? 
These  were  your  very  words." 

"Who  told  you  that  they  were  my  words?" 

"Why,  what  more  would  you  have?  Here  it  is 
printed:     Related  by  such  and  such  a  sacristan" 

"Spit  on  the  head  of  the  man  who  printed  that!  he  lies, 
the  dog  of  a  Moscow  pedlar!  Did  I  say  that?  'Twas 
just  the  same  as  though  one  hadnt  his  wits  about  him! 
Listen,  I'll  tell  it  to  you  on  the  spot." 

We  moved  up  to  the  table,  and  he  began. 

My  grandfather  (the  kingdom  of  heaven  be  his!  may 
he  eat  only  wheaten  rolls  and  makovniki  ^  with  honey  in 
the  other  world!)  could  tell  a  story  wonderfully  well. 
When  he  used  to  begin  on  a  tale,  you  wouldn't  stir  from 
the  spot  all  day,  but  keep  on  listening.  He  was  no 
match  for  the  story-teller  of  the  present  day,  when  he 
begins  to  lie,  with  a  tongue  as  though  he  had  had  noth- 
ing to  eat  for  three  days,  so  that  you  snatch  your  cap, 
and  flee  from  the  house.  As  I  now  recall  it,  my  old 
mother  was  alive  then,  in  the  long  winter  evenings  when 
the  frost  was  crackling  out  of  doors,  and  had  so  sealed 

1  Poppy-seeds  cooked  in  honey,  and  dried  in  square  cakes. 

[57] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


up  hermetically  the  narrow  panes  of  our  cottage,  she 
used  to  sit  before  the  hackling-comb,  drawing  out  a  long 
thread  in  her  hand,  rocking  the  cradle  with  her  foot, 
and  humming  a  song,  which  I  seem  to  hear  even  now. 

The  fat-lamp,  quivering  and  flaring  up  as  though  in 
fear  of  something,  lighted  us  within  our  cottage;  the 
spindle  hummed;  and  all  of  us  children,  collected  in  a 
cluster,  listened  to  grandfather,  who  had  not  crawled 
off"  the  oven  for  more  than  five  years,  owing  to  his  great 
age.  But  the  wondrous  tales  of  the  incursions  of  the 
Zaporozhian  Cossacks,  the  Poles,  the  bold  deeds  of 
Podkova,  of  Poltor-Kozhukh,  and  Sagaidatchnii,  did  not 
interest  us  so  much  as  the  stories  about  some  deed  of 
old  which  always  sent  a  shiver  through  our  frames,  and 
made  our  hair  rise  upright  on  our  heads.  Sometimes 
such  terror  took  possession  of  us  in  consequence  of  them, 
that,  from  that  evening  on,  Heaven  knows  what  a  marvel 
everything  seemed  to  us.  If  you  chanced  to  go  out  of 
the  cottage  after  nightfall  for  anything,  you  imagine 
that  a  visitor  from  the  other  world  has  lain  down  to 
sleep  in  your  bed;  and  I  should  not  be  able  to  tell  this 
a  second  time  were  it  not  that  I  had  often  taken  my  own 
smock,  at  a  distance,  as  it  lay  at  the  head  of  the  bed, 
for  the  Evil  One  rolled  up  in  a  ball!  But  the  chief 
thing  about  grandfather's  stories  was,  that  he  never  had 
lied  in  his  life;  and  whatever  he  said  was  so,  was  so. 

I  will  now  relate  to  you  one  of  his  marvellous  tales. 
I  know  that  there  are  a  great  many  wise  people  who 
copy  in  the  courts,  and  can  even  read  civil  documents, 
who,  if  you  were  to  put  into  their  hand  a  simple  prayer- 

[58] 


ST.    John's   eve 


book,  could  not  make  out  the  first  letter  in  it,  and  would 
show  all  their  teeth  in  derision — which  is  wisdom. 
These  people  laugh  at  everything  you  tell  them.  Such 
incredulity  has  spread  abroad  in  the  world!  What 
then?  (Why,  may  God  and  the  Holy  Virgin  cease  to 
love  me  if  it  is  not  possible  that  even  you  will  not  be- 
lieve me!)  Once  he  said  something  about  witches; 
.  .  .  What  then?  Along  comes  one  of  these  head- 
breakers, — and  doesn't  believe  in  witches!  Yes,  glory 
to  God  that  I  have  lived  so  long  in  the  world!  I  have 
seen  heretics,  to  whom  it  would  be  easier  to  lie  in  con- 
fession than  it  would  for  our  brothers  and  equals  to  take 
snuff,  and  those  people  would  deny  the  existence  of 
witches!  But  let  them  just  dream  about  something, 
and  they  won't  even  tell  what  it  was!  There's  no  use  in 
talking  about  them! 

No  one  could  have  recognized  this  village  of  ours  a 
little  over  a  hundred  years  ago:  a  hamlet  it  was,  the 
poorest  kind  of  a  hamlet.  Half  a  score  of  miserable 
izbas,  unplastered,  badly  thatched,  were  scattered  here 
and  there  about  the  fields.  There  was  not  an  enclosure 
or  a  decent  shed  to  shelter  animals  or  wagons.  That 
was  the  way  the  wealthy  lived:  and  if  you  had  looked 
for  our  brothers,  the  poor, — why,  a  hole  in  the  ground, 
— that  was  a  cabin  for  you!  Only  by  the  smoke  could 
you  tell  that  a  God-created  man  lived  there.  You  ask, 
why  they  lived  so?  It  was  not  entirely  through  pov- 
erty: almost  every  one  led  a  wandering,  Cossack  life, 
and  gathered  not  a  little  plunder  in  foreign  lands;  it 

[59] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


was  rather  because  there  was  no  reason  for  setting  up  a 
well-ordered  khata  ^.  How  many  people  were  wander- 
ing all  over  the  country, — Crimeans,  Poles,  Lithuanians! 
It  was  quite  possible  that  their  own  countrymen  might 
make  a  descent,  and  plunder  everything.  Anything 
was  possible. 

In  this  hamlet  a  man,  or  rather  a  devil  in  human 
form,  often  made  his  appearance.  Why  he  came,  and 
whence,  no  one  knew.  He  prowled  about,  got  drunk, 
and  suddenly  disappeared  as  if  into  the  air,  and  there 
was  not  a  hint  of  his  existence.  Then,  again,  behold, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  dropped  from  the  sky,  and  went 
flying  about  the  street  of  the  village,  of  which  no  trace 
now  remains,  and  which  was  not  more  than  a  hundred 
paces  from  Dikanka.  He  would  collect  together  all 
the  Cossacks  he  met;  then  there  were  songs,  laughter, 
money  in  abundance,  and  vodka  flowed  like  water.  .  .  . 
He  would  address  the  pretty  girls,  and  give  them  rib- 
bons, earrings,  strings  of  beads, — more  than  they  knew 
what  to  do  with.  It  is  true  that  the  pretty  girls  rather 
hesitated  about  accepting  his  presents:  God  knows, 
perhaps  they  had  passed  through  unclean  hands.  My 
grandfather's  aunt,  who  kept  a  tavern  at  the  time,  in 
which  Basavriuk  (as  they  called  that  devil-man)  often 
had  his  carouses,  said  that  no  consideration  on  the  face 
of  the  earth  would  have  induced  her  to  accept  a  gift 
from  him.  And  then,  again,  how  avoid  accepting? 
Fear  seized  on  every  one  when  he  knit  his  bristly  brows, 
and  gave  a  sidelong  glance  which  might  send  your  feet, 
God  knows  whither:  but  if  you  accept,  then  the  next 


1  Wooden  house. 

[60] 


ST.    John's   eve 


night  some  fiend  from  the  swamp,  with  horns  on  his 
head,  comes  to  call,  and  begins  to  squeeze  your  neck, 
when  there  is  a  string  of  beads  upon  it;  or  bite  your 
finger,  if  there  is  a  ring  upon  it;  or  drag  you  by  the 
hair,  if  ribbons  are  braided  in  it.  God  have  mercy, 
then,  on  those  who  owned  such  gifts!  But  here  was  the 
difficulty;  it  was  impossible  to  get  rid  of  them;  if  you 
threw  them  into  the  water,  the  diabolical  ring  or  neck- 
lace would  skim  along  the  surface,  and  into  your  hand. 

There  was  a  church  in  the  village, — St.  Pantelei,  if  I 
remember  rightly.  There  lived  there  a  priest.  Father 
Athanasii  of  blessed  memory.  Observing  that  Basa- 
vriuk  did  not  come  to  Church,  even  on  Easter,  he  de- 
termined to  reprove  him,  and  impose  penance  upon 
him.  Well,  he  hardly  escaped  with  his  life.  "Hark 
ye,  pannotche!"  ^  he  thundered  in  reply,  "learn  to  mind 
your  own  business  instead  of  meddling  in  other 
people's,  if  you  don't  want  that  goat's  throat  of  yours 
stuck  together  with  boiling  kutya."  ^  What  was  to  be 
done  with  this  unrepentant  man?  Father  Athanasii  con- 
tented himself  with  announcing  that  any  one  who  should 
make  the  acquaintance  of  Basavriuk  would  be  counted 
a  Catholic,  an  enemy  of  Christ's  church,  not  a  member 
of  the  human  race. 

In  this  village  there  was  a  Cossack  named  Korzh, 
who  had  a  labourer  whom  people  called  Peter  the  Or- 
phan— perhaps  because  no  one  remembered  either  his 
father  or  mother.     The  church  starost,^  it  is  true,  said 

iSir. 

2  A  dish  of  rice  or  wheat  flour,  with  honey  and  raisins,  which  is 
brought  to  the  church  on  the  celebration  of  memorial  masses. 
8  Elder. 

[61] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


that  they  had  died  of  the  pest  in  his  second  year;  but 
my  grandfather's  aunt  would  not  hear  to  that,  and  tried 
with  all  her  might  to  furnish  him  with  parents,  although 
poor  Peter  needed  them  about  as  much  as  we  need  last 
year's  snow.  She  said  that  his  father  had  been  in  Zapor- 
ozhe,  taken  prisoner  by  the  Turks,  underwent  God  only 
knows  what  tortures,  and  having,  by  some  miracle,  dis- 
guised himself  as  a  eunuch,  had  made  his  escape.  Lit- 
tle cared  the  black-browed  youths  and  maidens  about 
his  parents.  They  merely  remarked,  that  if  he  only 
had  a  new  coat,  a  red  sash,  a  black  lambskin  cap,  with 
dandified  blue  crown,  on  his  head,  a  Turkish  sabre  hang- 
ing by  his  side,  a  whip  in  one  hand  and  a  pipe  with  hand- 
some mountings  in  the  other,  he  would  surpass  all  the 
young  men.  But  the  pity  was,  that  the  only  thing  poor 
Peter  had  was  a  grey  svitka  with  more  holes  in  it  than 
there  are  gold  pieces  in  a  Jew's  pocket.  And  that  was 
not  the  worst  of  it,  but  this:  that  Korzh  had  a  daughter, 
such  a  beauty  as  I  think  you  can  hardly  have  chanced 
to  see.  My  deceased  grandfather's  aunt  used  to  say — 
and  you  know  that  it  is  easier  for  a  woman  to  kiss  the 
Evil  One  than  to  call  anybody  a  beauty,  without  malice 
be  it  said — that  this  Cossack  maiden's  cheeks  were  as 
plump  and  fresh  as  the  pinkest  poppy  when  just  bathed 
in  God's  dew,  and,  glowing,  it  unfolds  its  petals,  and 
coquets  with  the  rising  sun;  that  her  brows  were  like 
black  cords,  such  as  our  maidens  buy  nowadays,  for 
their  crosses  and  ducats,  of  the  Moscow  pedlars  who 
visit  the  villages  with  their  baskets,  and  evenly  arched 
as  though  peeping  into  her  clear  eyes;  that  her  little 
mouth,  at  sight  of  which  the  youth  smacked  their  lips, 

[62] 


ST.    John's   eve 


seemed  made  to  emit  the  songs  of  nightingales;  that  her 
hair,  black  as  the  raven's  wing,  and  soft  as  young  flax 
(our  maidens  did  not  then  plait  their  hair  in  clubs  in- 
terwoven with  pretty,  bright-hued  ribbons),  fell  in  curls 
over  her  kuntush.^  Eh!  may  I  never  intone  another 
alleluia  in  the  choir,  if  I  would  not  have  kissed  her,  in 
spite  of  the  grey  which  is  making  its  way  all  through 
the  old  wool  which  covers  my  pate,  and  my  old  woman 
beside  me,  like  a  thorn  in  my  side!  Well,  you  know 
what  happens  when  young  men  and  maids  live  side  by 
side.  In  the  twilight  the  heels  of  red  boots  were  al- 
ways visible  in  the  place  where  Pidorka  chatted  with  her 
Petrus.  But  Korzh  would  never  have  suspected  any- 
thing out  of  the  way,  only  one  day — it  is  evident  that 
none  but  the  Evil  One  could  have  inspired  him — Petrus 
took  it  into  his  head  to  kiss  the  Cossack  maiden's  rosy  lips 
with  all  his  heart  in  the  passage,  without  first  looking 
well  about  him;  and  that  same  Evil  One — may  the  son 
of  a  dog  dream  of  the  holy  cross! — caused  the  old  grey- 
beard, like  a  fool,  to  open  the  cottage-door  at  that  same 
moment.  Korzh  was  petrified,  dropped  his  jaw,  and 
clutched  at  the  door  for  support.  Those  unlucky  kisses 
had  completely  stunned  him.  It  surprised  him  more 
than  the  blow  of  a  pestle  on  the  wall,  with  which,  in  our 
days,  the  muzhik  generally  drives  out  his  intoxication 
for  lack  of  fusees  and  powder. 

Recovering  himself,  he  took  his  grandfather's  hunt- 
ing-whip from  the  wall,  and  was  about  to  belabour 
Peter's  back  with  it,  when  Pidorka's  little  six-year-old 
brother  Ivas  rushed  up  from  somewhere  or  other,  and, 

1  Upper  garment  in  Little  Russia. 

[63] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


grasping  his  father's  legs  with  his  little  hands,  screamed 
out,  "  Daddy,  daddy!  don't  beat  Petrus!  "  What  was  to 
be  done?  A  father's  heart  is  not  made  of  stone.  Hang- 
ing the  whip  again  upon  the  wall,  he  led  him  quietly 
from  the  house.  "  If  you  ever  show  yourself  in  my 
cottage  again,  or  even  under  the  windows,  look  out, 
Petro!  by  Heaven,  your  black  moustache  will  disappear; 
and  your  black  locks,  though  wound  twice  about  your 
ears,  will  take  leave  of  your  pate,  or  my  name  is  not 
Terentii  Korzh."  So  saying,  he  gave  him  a  little  taste 
of  his  fist  in  the  nape  of  his  neck,  so  that  all  grew  dark 
before  Petrus,  and  he  flew  headlong.  So  there  was  an 
end  of  their  kissing.  Sorrow  seized  upon  our  doves; 
and  a  rumour  was  rife  in  the  village,  that  a  certain 
Pole,  all  embroidered  with  gold,  with  moustaches,  sabre, 
spurs,  and  pockets  jingling  like  the  bells  of  the  bag 
with  which  our  sacristan  Taras  goes  through  the  church 
every  day,  had  begun  to  frequent  Korzh's  house. 
Now,  it  is  well  known  why  the  father  is  visited  when 
there  is  a  black-browed  daughter  about.  So,  one  day, 
Pidorka  burst  into  tears,  and  clutched  the  hand  of  her 
Ivas.  "Ivas,  my  dear!  Ivas,  my  love!  fly  to  Petrus, 
my  child  of  gold,  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  Tell  him 
all:  I  would  have  loved  his  brown  eyes,  I  would  have 
kissed  his  white  face,  but  my  fate  decrees  not  so.  More 
than  one  towel  have  I  wet  with  burning  tears.  I  am  sad, 
I  am  heavy  at  heart.  And  my  own  father  is  my  enemy. 
I  will  not  marry  that  Pole,  whom  I  do  not  love.  Tell 
him  they  are  preparing  a  wedding,  but  there  will  be  no 
music  at  our  wedding:  ecclesiastics  will  sing  instead  of 

[64] 


ST.    John's   eve 


pipes  and  kobzas/  I  shall  not  dance  with  my  bride- 
groom: they  will  carry  me  out.  Dark,  dark  will  be  my 
dwelling, — of  maple  wood;  and,  instead  of  chimneys,  a 
cross  will  stand  upon  the  roof." 

Petro  stood  petrified,  without  moving  from  the  spot, 
when  the  innocent  child  lisped  out  Pidorka's  words  to 
him.  "And  I,  unhappy  man,  thought  to  go  to  the 
Crimea  and  Turkey,  win  gold  and  return  to  thee,  my 
beauty!  But  it  may  not  be.  The  evil  eye  has  seen  us. 
I  will  have  a  wedding,  too,  dear  little  fish,  I,  too ;  but  no 
ecclesiastics  will  be  at  that  wedding.  The  black  crow 
will  caw,  instead  of  the  pope,  over  me ;  the  smooth  field 
will  be  my  dwelling;  the  dark  blue  clouds  my  roof -tree. 
The  eagle  will  claw  out  my  brown  eyes:  the  rain  will 
wash  the  Cossack's  bones,  and  the  whirlwinds  will  dry 
them.  But  what  am  I?  Of  whom,  to  whom,  am  I 
complaining?  'Tis  plain,  God  willed  it  so.  If  I  am  to 
be  lost,  then  so  be  it!  "  and  he  went  straight  to  the  tavern. 

My  late  grandfather's  aunt  was  somewhat  surprised 
on  seeing  Petrus  in  the  tavern,  and  at  an  hour  when  good 
men  go  to  morning  mass;  and  she  stared  at  him  as  though 
in  a  dream,  when  he  demanded  a  jug  of  brandy,  about 
half  a  pailful.  But  the  poor  fellow  tried  in  vain  to 
drown  his  woe.  The  vodka  stung  his  tongue  like  nettles, 
and  tasted  more  bitter  than  wormwood.  He  flung  the 
jug  from  him  upon  the  ground.  "You  have  sorrowed 
enough,  Cossack,"  growled  a  bass  voice  behind  him. 
He  looked  round — Basavriuk!  Ugh,  what  a  face!  His 
hair  was  like  a  brush,  his  eyes  like  those  of  a  bull.     "I 


Eight-stringed  musical  instrument. 

[65] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


know  what  you  lack:  here  it  is."  Then  he  jingled  a 
leather  purse  which  hung  from  his  girdle,  and  smiled 
diabolically.  Petro  shuddered.  "He,  he,  he!  yes,  how 
it  shines!"  he  roared,  shaking  out  ducats  into  his  hand: 
"he,  he,  he!  and  how  it  jingles!  And  I  only  ask  one 
thing  for  a  whole  pile  of  such  shiners." — "It  is  the  Evil 
One!"  exclaimed  Petro: — "Give  them  here!  I  am 
ready  for  anything!"  They  struck  hands  upon  it. 
"See  here,  Petro,  you  are  ripe  just  in  time:  tomorrow  is 
St.  John  the  Baptist's  day.  Only  on  this  one  night  in 
the  year  does  the  fern  blossom.  Delay  not.  I  will 
await  thee  at  midnight  in  the  Bear's  ravine." 

I  do  not  believe  that  chickens  await  the  hour  when  the 
woman  brings  their  com,  with  as  much  anxiety  as  Petrus 
awaited  the  evening.  And,  in  fact,  he  looked  to  see 
whether  the  shadows  of  the  trees  were  not  lengthening,  if 
the  Sim  were  not  turning  red  towards  setting;  and,  the 
longer  he  watched,  the  more  impatient  he  grew.  How 
long  it  was!  Evidently,  God's  day  had  lost  its  end 
somewhere.  And  now  the  sun  is  gone.  The  sky  is  red 
only  on  one  side,  and  it  is  already  growing  dark.  It 
grows  colder  in  the  fields.  It  gets  dusky,  and  more 
dusky,  and  at  last  quite  dark.  At  last!  With  heart  al- 
most bursting  from  his  bosom,  he  set  out  on  his  way,  and 
cautiously  descended  through  the  dense  woods  into  the 
deep  hollow  called  the  Bear's  ravine.  Basavriuk  was 
already  waiting  there.  It  was  so  dark,  that  you  could 
not  see  a  yard  before  you.  Hand  in  hand  they  pene- 
trated the  thin  marsh,  clinging  to  the  luxuriant  thorn- 
bushes,  and  stumbling  at  almost  every  step.  At  last 
they  reached  an  open  spot.     Petro  looked  about  him: 

[66] 


ST.    John's   eve 


he  had  never  chanced  to  come  there  before.  Here  Bas- 
avriuk  haked. 

"Do  you  see,  before  you  stand  three  hillocks?  There 
are  a  great  many  sorts  of  flowers  upon  them.  But  may 
some  power  keep  you  from  plucking  even  one  of  them. 
But  as  soon  as  the  fern  blossoms,  seize  it,  and  look  not 
round,  no  matter  what  may  seem  to  be  going  on  behind 
thee." 

Petro  wanted  to  ask — and  behold,  he  was  no  longer 
there.  He  approached  the  three  hillocks — ^where  were 
the  flowers?  He  saw  nothing.  The  wild  steppe-grass 
darkled  around,  and  stifled  everything  in  its  luxuriance. 
But  the  lightning  flashed ;  and  before  him  stood  a  whole 
bed  of  flowers,  all  wonderful,  all  strange:  and  there  were 
also  the  simple  fronds  of  fern.  Petro  doubted  his 
senses,  and  stood  thoughtfully  before  them,  with  both 
hands  upon  his  sides. 

"What  prodigy  is  this?  one  can  see  these  weeds  ten 
times  in  a  day:  what  marvel  is  there  about  them?  was 
not  devil's-face  laughing  at  me?" 

Behold!  the  tiny  flower-bud  crimsons,  and  moves  as 
though  alive.  It  is  a  marvel,  in  truth.  It  moves,  and 
grows  larger  and  larger,  and  flashes  like  a  burning  coal. 
The  tiny  star  flashes  up,  something  bursts  softly,  and  the 
flower  opens  before  his  eyes  like  a  flame,  lighting  the 
others  about  it.  "Now  is  the  time,"  thought  Petro,  and 
extended  his  hand.  He  sees  hundreds  of  shaggy  hands 
reach  from  behind  him,  also  for  the  flower;  and  there  is 
a  running  about  from  place  to  place,  in  the  rear.  He 
half  shut  his  eyes,  plucked  sharply  at  the  stalk,  and  the 
flower  remained  in  his  hand.     All  became  still.     Upon 

[67] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


a  stump  sat  Basavriuk,  all  blue  like  a  corpse.  He 
moved  not  so  much  as  a  finger.  His  ey6s  were  immov- 
ably fixed  on  something  visible  to  him  alone:  his  mouth 
was  half  open  and  speechless.  All  about,  nothing 
stirred.  Ugh!  it  was  horrible! — But  then  a  whistle  was 
heard,  which  made  Petro's  heart  grow  cold  within  him; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  grass  whispered,  and  the 
flowers  began  to  talk  among  themselves  in  delicate 
voices,  like  little  silver  bells ;  the  trees  rustled  in  waving 
contention; — Basavriuk's  face  suddenly  became  full  of 
life  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  "The  witch  has  just  re- 
turned," he  muttered  between  his  teeth.  "See  here, 
Petro:  a  beauty  will  stand  before  you  in  a  moment;  do 
whatever  she  commands;  if  not — ^you  are  lost  for  ever." 
Then  he  parted  the  thorn-bush  with  a  knotty  stick,  and 
before  him  stood  a  tiny  izba,  on  chicken's  legs,  as  they 
say.  Basavriuk  smote  it  with  his  fist,  and  the  wall 
trembled.  A  large  black  dog  ran  out  to  meet  them,  and 
with  a  whine,  transforming  itself  into  a  cat,  flew  straight 
at  his  eyes.  "Don't  be  angry,  don't  be  angry,  you  old 
Satan!"  said  Basavriuk,  employing  such  words  as  would 
have  made  a  good  man  stop  his  ears.  Behold,  instead 
of  a  cat,  an  old  woman  with  a  face  wrinkled  like  a 
baked  apple,  and  all  bent  into  a  bow:  her  nose  and  chin 
were  like  a  pair  of  nut-crackers.  "A  stunning  beauty!" 
thought  Petro ;  and  cold  chills  ran  down  his  back.  The 
witch  tore  the  flower  from  his  hand,  bent  over,  and  mut- 
tered over  it  for  a  long  time,  sprinkling  it  with  some 
kind  of  water.  Sparks  flew  from  her  mouth,  froth  ap- 
peared on  her  lips. 

"Throw  it  away,"  she  said,  giving  it  back  to  Petro. 

[68] 


ST.    John's   eve 


Petro  threw  it,  and  what  wonder  was  this?  the  flower 
did  not  fall  straight  to  the  earth,  but  for  a  long  while 
twinkled  like  a  fiery  ball  through  the  darkness,  and 
swam  through  the  air  like  a  boat:  at  last  it  began  to 
sink  lower,  and  fell  so  far  away,  that  the  little  star, 
hardly  larger  than  a  poppy-seed,  was  barely  visible. 
"Here!"  croaked  the  old  woman,  in  a  dull  voice:  and 
Basavriuk,  giving  him  a  spade,  said,  "Dig  here,  Petro: 
here  you  will  find  more  gold  than  you  or  Korzh  ever 
dreamed  of." 

Petro  spat  on  his  hands,  seized  the  spade,  applied  his 
foot,  and  turned  up  the  earth,  a  second,  a  third,  a  fourth 
time.  .  .  .  There  was  something  hard:  the  spade 
clinked,  and  would  go  no  farther.  Then  his  eyes  be- 
gan to  distinguish  a  small,  iron-bound  coffer.  He  tried 
to  seize  it;  but  the  chest  began  to  sink  into  the  earth, 
deeper,  farther,  and  deeper  still:  and  behind  him  he 
heard  a  laugh,  more  like  a  serpent's  hiss.  "No,  you  shall 
not  see  the  gold  until  you  procure  human  blood,"  said 
the  witch,  and  led  up  to  him  a  child  of  six,  covered  with 
a  white  sheet,  indicating  by  a  sign  that  he  was  to  cut 
off  his  head.  Petro  was  stunned.  A  trifle,  indeed,  to 
cut  off  a  man's  or  even  an  innocent  child's  head  for  no 
reason  whatever!  In  wrath  he  tore  off  the  sheet  envel- 
oping his  head,  and  behold!  before  him  stood  Ivas. 
And  the  poor  child  crossed  his  little  hands,  and  hung  his 
head.  .  .  .  Petro  flew  upon  the  witch  with  the  knife 
like  a  madman,  and  was  on  the  point  of  laying  hands 
on  her.  .  .  . 

"What  did  you  promise  for  the  girl?"  .  .  .  thun- 
dered Basavriuk;  and  like  a  shot  he  was  on  his  back. 

[69] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


The  witch  stamped  her  foot:  a  blue  flame  flashed  from 
the  earth;  it  illumined  it  all  inside,  and  it  was  as  if 
moulded  of  crystal;  and  all  that  was  within  the  earth 
became  visible,  as  if  in  the  palm  of  the  hand.  Ducats, 
precious  stones  in  chests  and  kettles,  were  piled  in  heaps 
beneath  the  very  spot  they  stood  on.  His  eyes  burned, 
...  his  mind  grew  troubled.  ...  He  grasped  the 
knife  like  a  madman,  and  the  innocent  blood  spurted 
into  his  eyes.  Diabolical  laughter  resounded  on  all 
sides.  Misshaped  monsters  flew  past  him  in  herds. 
The  witch,  fastening  her  hands  in  the  headless  trunk, 
like  a  wolf,  drank  its  blood.  .  .  .  All  went  round  in  his 
head.  Collecting  all  his  strength,  he  set  out  to  run. 
Everything  turned  red  before  him.  The  trees  seemed 
steeped  in  blood,  and  burned  and  groaned.  Tlie  sky 
glowed  and  glowered.  .  .  .  Burning  point,  like  light- 
ninaj,  flickered  before  his  eyes.  Utterly  exhausted,  he 
rushed  into  his  miserable  hovel,  and  fell  to  the  ground 
like  a  log.     A  death-like  sleep  overpowered  him. 

Two  days  and  two  nights  did  Petro  sleep,  without  once 
awakening.  When  he  came  to  himself,  on  the  third 
day,  he  looked  long  at  all  the  comers  of  his  hut;  but  in 
vain  did  he  endeavour  to  recollect;  his  memory  was  like 
a  miser's  pocket,  from  which  you  cannot  entice  a 
quarter  of  a  kopek.  Stretching  himself,  he  heard 
something  clash  at  his  feet.  He  looked — two  bags  of 
gold.  Then  only,  as  if  in  a  dream,  he  recollected  that 
he  had  been  seeking  some  treasure,  that  something  had 
frightened  him  in  the  woods.  .  .  .  But  at  what  price  he 
had  obtained  it,  and  how,  he  could  by  no  means  under- 
stand. *: 

[70] 


ST.    John's   eve 


Korzh  saw  the  sacks, — and  was  mollified.  "Such  a 
Petrus,  quite  unheard  of!  yes,  and  did  I  not  love  him? 
Was  he  not  to  me  as  my  own  son?"  And  the  old  fellow 
carried  on  his  fiction  until  it  reduced  him  to  tears. 
Pidorka  began  to  tell  him  some  passing  gipsies  had 
stolen  Ivas ;  but  Petro  could  not  even  recall  him — to  such 
a  degree  had  the  Devil's  influence  darkened  his  mind! 
There  was  no  reason  for  delay.  The  Pole  was  dis- 
missed, and  the  wedding-feast  prepared;  rolls  were 
baked,  towels  and  handkerchiefs  embroidered;  the 
young  people  were  seated  at  table;  the  wedding-loaf  was 
cut;  banduras,  cymbals,  pipes,  kobzi,  sounded,  and 
pleasure  was  rife.  ... 

A  wedding  in  the  olden  times  was  not  like  one  of  the 
present  day.  My  grandfather's  aunt  used  to  tell — ^what 
doings! — how  the  maidens — in  festive  head-dresses  of 
yellow,  blue,  and  pink  ribbons,  above  which  they  bound 
gold  braid;  in  thin  chemisettes  embroidered  on  all  the 
seams  with  red  silk,  and  strewn  with  tiny  silver  flowers; 
in  morocco  shoes,  with  high  iron  heels — danced  the  gor- 
litza  as  swimmingly  as  peacocks,  and  as  wildly  as  the 
whirlwind ;  how  the  youths — with  their  ship-shaped  caps 
upon  their  heads,  the  crowns  of  gold  brocade,  with  a 
little  slit  at  the  nape  where  the  hair-net  peeped  through, 
and  two  horns  projecting,  one  in  front  and  another  be- 
hind, of  the  very  finest  black  lambskin;  in  kuntushas  of 
the  finest  blue  silk  with  red  borders — stepped  forward 
one  by  one,  their  arms  akimbo  in  stately  form,  and 
executed  the  gopak;  how  the  lads — in  tall  Cossack  caps, 
and  light  cloth  svitkas,  girt  with  silver  embroidered  belts, 
their  short  pipes  in  their  teeth — skipped  before  them, 

[71] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


and  talked  nonsense.  Even  Korzh  could  not  contain 
himself,  as  he  gazed  at  the  young  people,  from  getting 
gay  in  his  old  age.  Bandura  in  hand,  alternately  puff- 
ing at  his  pipe  and  singing,  a  brandy-glass  upon  his 
head,  the  greybeard  began  the  national  dance  amid  loud 
shouts  from  the  merry-makers.  What  will  not  people 
devise  in  merry  mood!  They  even  began  to  disguise 
their  faces.  They  did  not  look  like  human  beings. 
They  are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  disguises  which 
we  have  at  our  weddings  nowadays.  What  do  they  do 
now?  Why,  imitate  gipsies  and  Moscow  pedlars. 
No!  then  one  used  to  dress  himself  as  a  Jew,  another  as 
the  Devil:  they  would  begin  by  kissing  each  other,  and 
end  by  seizing  each  other  by  the  hair.  .  .  .  God  be  with 
them!  you  laughed  till  you  held  your  sides.  They 
dressed  themselves  in  Turkish  and  Tartar  garments.  All 
upon  them  glowed  like  a  conflagration  .  .  .  and  then 
they  began  to  joke  and  play  pranks.  .  .  .  Well,  then 
away  with  the  saints! 

An  amusing  thing  happened  to  my  grandfather's  aunt, 
who  was  at  this  wedding.  She  was  dressed  in  a  volum- 
inous Tartar  robe,  and,  wineglass  in  hand,  was  entertain- 
ing the  company.  The  Evil  One  instigated  one  man  to 
pour  vodka  over  her  from  behind.  Another,  at  the 
same  moment,  evidently  not  by  accident,  struck  a  light, 
and  touched  it  to  her;  .  .  .  the  flame  flashed  up;  poor 
aunt,  in  terror,  flung  her  robe  from  her,  before  them 
all.  .  .  .  Screams,  laughter,  jests,  arose,  as  if  at  a  fair. 
In  a  word,  the  old  folks  could  not  recall  so  merry  a 
wedding. 

Pidorka  and  Petrus  began  to  live  like  a  gentleman 

[72] 


ST.    John's   eve 


and  lady.  There  was  plenty  of  everything,  and  every- 
thing was  handsome.  .  .  .  But  honest  people  shook 
their  heads  when  they  looked  at  their  way  of  living. 
"  From  the  Devil  no  good  can  come,"  they  unanimously 
agreed.  "Whence,  except  from  the  tempter  of  orthodox 
people,  came  this  wealth?  Where  else  could  he  get 
such  a  lot  of  gold?  Why,  on  the  very  day  that  he  got 
rich,  did  Basavriuk  vanish  as  if  into  thin  air?  "  Say, 
if  you  can,  that  people  imagine  things!  In  fact,  a 
month  had  not  passed,  and  no  one  would  have  recognized 
Petrus.  Why,  what  had  happened  to  him?  God  knows. 
He  sits  in  one  spot,  and  says  no  word  to  any  one:  he 
thinks  continually,  and  seems  to  be  trying  to  recall  some- 
thing. When  Pidorka  succeeds  in  getting  him  to  speak, 
he  seems  to  forget  himself,  carries  on  a  conversation, 
and  even  grows  cheerful ;  but  if  he  inadvertently  glances 
at  the  sacks,  "Stop,  stop!  I  have  forgotten,"  he  cries, 
and  again  plunges  into  revery,  and  again  strives  to  re- 
call something.  Sometimes  when  he  has  sat  long  in  a 
place,  it  seems  to  him  as  though  it  were  coming,  just 
coming  back  to  mind,  .  .  .  and  again  all  fades  away. 
It  seems  as  if  he  is  sitting  in  the  tavern:  they  bring 
him  vodka ;  vodka  stings  him ;  vodka  is  repulsive  to  him. 
Some  one  comes  along,  and  strikes  him  on  the  shoulder; 
.  .  .  but  beyond  that  everything  is  veiled  in  darkness 
before  him.  The  perspiration  streams  down  his  face, 
and  he  sits  exhausted  in  the  same  place. 

What  did  not  Pidorka  do?  She  consulted  the  sorce- 
ress; and  they  poured  out  fear,  and  brewed  stomach- 
ache,^— ^but  all  to  no  avail.     And  so  the  summer  passed. 

i"To  pour  out  fear,"  is  done  with  us  in  case  of  fear;  when  it  is  de- 

[73] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


Many  a  Cossack  had  mowed  and  reaped:  many  a  Cos- 
sack, more  enterprising  than  the  rest,  had  set  off  upon 
an  expedition.  Flocks  of  ducks  were  already  crowd- 
ing our  marshes,  but  there  was  not  even  a  hint  of  im- 
provement. 

It  was  red  upon  the  steppes.  Ricks  of  grain,  like 
Cossacks'  caps,  dotted  the  fields  here  and  there.  On  the 
highway  were  to  be  encountered  wagons  loaded  with 
brushwood  and  logs.  The  ground  had  become  more 
solid,  and  in  places  was  touched  with  frost.  Already 
had  the  snow  begun  to  besprinkle  the  sky,  and  the 
branches  of  the  trees  were  covered  with  rime  like  rabbit- 
skin.  Already  on  frosty  days  the  red-breasted  finch 
hopped  about  on  the  snow-heaps  like  a  foppish  Polish 
nobleman,  and  picked  out  grains  of  com;  and  children, 
with  huge  sticks,  chased  wooden  tops  upon  the  ice;  while 
their  fathers  lay  quietly  on  the  stove,  issuing  forth  at 
intervals  with  lighted  pipes  in  their  lips,  to  growl,  in 
regular  fashion,  at  the  orthodox  frost,  or  to  take  the  air, 
and  thresh  the  grain  spread  out  in  the  bam.  At  last  the 
snow  began  to  melt,  and  the  ice  rind  slipped  away:  but 
Petro  remained  the  same;  and,  the  longer  it  went  on, 
the  more  morose  he  grew.  He  sat  in  the  middle  of  the 
cottas^e  as  though  nailed  to  the  spot,  with  the  sacks  of 
gold  at  his  feet.     He  grew  shy,  his  hair  grew  long,  he 

sired  to  know  what  caused  it,  melted  lead  or  wax  is  poured  into  water 
and  the  ohfect  whose  form  it  assumes  is  the  one  which  friffhtened  the 
sick  person;  after  this,  the  fear  departs.  Sonvashnitza  is  brewed  for 
giddiness,  and  pain  in  the  bowels.  To  this  end.  a  bit  of  stump  is 
burned,  thrown  into  a  jug  and  turned  upside  down  into  a  bowl  filled 
with  water,  which  is  placed  on  the  patient's  stomach:  after  an  incanta- 
tion, he  is  given  a  spoonful  of  this  water  to  drink. 

[74] 


ST.    John's   eve 


became  terrible;  and  still  he  thought  of  but  one  thing, 
still  he  tried  to  recall  something,  and  got  angry  and  ill- 
tempered  because  he  could  not  recall  it.  Often,  rising 
wildly  from  his  seat,  he  gesticulates  violently,  fixes  his 
eyes  on  something  as  though  desirous  of  catching  it:  his 
lips  move  as  though  desirous  of  uttering  some  long- 
forgotten  word  —  and  remain  speechless.  Fury  takes 
possession  of  him:  he  gnaws  and  bites  his  hands  like  a 
man  half  crazy,  and  in  his  vexation  tears  out  his  hair 
by  the  handful,  until,  calming  down,  he  falls  into  forget- 
fulness,  as  it  were,  and  again  begins  to  recall,  and  is 
again  seized  with  fury  and  fresh  tortures.  .  .  .  What 
visitation  of  God  is  this? 

Pidorka  was  neither  dead  nor  alive.  At  first  it  was 
horrible  to  her  to  remain  alone  in  the  cottage;  but,  in 
course  of  time,  the  poor  woman  grew  accustomed  to  her 
sorrow.  But  it  was  impossible  to  recognize  the  Pidorka 
of  former  days.  No  blush,  no  smile:  she  was  thin  and 
worn  with  grief,  and  had  wept  her  bright  eyes  away. 
Once,  some  one  who  evidently  took  pity  on  her,  advised 
her  to  go  to  the  witch  who  dwelt  in  the  Bear's  ravine, 
and  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  able  to  cure  every 
disease  in  the  world.  She  determined  to  try  this  last 
remedy:  word  by  word  she  persuaded  the  old  woman  to 
come  to  her.  This  was  St.  John's  Eve,  as  it  chanced. 
Petro  lay  insensible  on  the  bench,  and  did  not  observe 
the  new-comer.  Little  by  little  he  rose,  and  looked 
about  him.  Suddenly  he  trembled  in  every  limb,  as 
though  he  were  on  the  scaffold:  his  hair  rose  upon  his 
head,  .  .  .  and  he  laughed  such  a  laugh  as  pierced 

[75] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


Pidorka's  heart  with  fear.  "I  have  remembered,  re- 
membered!" he  cried  in  terrible  joy;  and,  swinging  a 
hatchet  round  his  head,  he  flung  it  at  the  old  woman 
with  all  his  might.  The  hatchet  penetrated  the  oaken 
door  two  vershok.^  The  old  woman  disappeared;  and 
a  child  of  seven  in  a  white  blouse,  with  covered  head, 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  cottage.  .  .  .  The  sheet  flew 
off".  "Ivas!"  cried  Pidorka,  and  ran  to  him;  but  the  ap- 
parition became  covered  from  head  to  foot  with  blood, 
and  illumined  the  whole  room  with  red  light.  .  .  .  She 
ran  into  the  passage  in  her  terror,  but,  on  recovering  her- 
self a  little,  wished  to  help  him;  in  vain!  the  door  had 
slammed  to  behind  her  so  securely  that  she  could  not 
open  it.  People  ran  up,  and  began  to  knock:  they  broke 
in  the  door,  as  though  there  were  but  one  mind  among 
them.  The  whole  cottage  was  full  of  smoke;  and  just 
in  the  middle,  where  Petrus  had  stood,  was  a  heap  of 
ashes,  from  which  smoke  was  still  rising.  They  flung 
themselves  upon  the  sacks:  only  broken  potsherds  lay 
there  instead  of  ducats.  The  Cossacks  stood  with  star- 
ing eyes  and  open  mouths,  not  daring  to  move  a  hair, 
as  if  rooted  to  the  earth,  such  terror  did  this  wonder 
inspire  in  them. 

I  do  not  remember  what  happened  next.  Pidorka 
took  a  vow  to  go  upon  a  pilgrimage,  collected  the  prop- 
erty left  her  by  her  father,  and  in  a  few  days  it  was  as 
if  she  had  never  been  in  the  village.  Whither  she  had 
gone,  no  one  could  tell.  Officious  old  women  would  have 
dispatched  her  to  the  same  place  whither  Petro  had  gone ; 
but  a  Cossack  from  Kiev  reported  that  he  had  seen,  in  a 

1  Three  inches  and  a  half. 

[76] 


ST.    John's    eve 


cloister,  a  nun  withered  to  a  mere  skeleton,  who  prayed 
unceasingly;  and  her  fellow- villagers  recognized  her  as 
Pidorka,  by  all  the  signs, — that  no  one  had  ever  heard 
her  utter  a  word;  that  she  had  come  on  foot,  and  had 
brought  a  frame  for  the  ikon  of  God's  mother,  set  with 
such  brilliant  stones  that  all  were  dazzled  at  the  sight. 

But  this  was  not  the  end,  if  you  please.  On  the  same 
day  that  the  Evil  One  made  way  with  Petrus,  Basavriuk 
appeared  again;  but  all  fled  from  him.  They  knew 
what  sort  of  a  bird  he  was, — none  else  than  Satan,  who 
had  assumed  human  form  in  order  to  unearth  treasures ; 
and,  since  treasures  do  not  yield  to  unclean  hands,  he  se- 
duced the  young.  That  same  year,  all  deserted  their 
earth  huts,  and  collected  in  a  village;  but,  even  there, 
there  was  no  peace,  on  account  of  that  accursed  Basa- 
vriuk. My  late  grandfather's  aunt  said  that  he  was 
particularly  angry  with  her,  because  she  had  abandoned 
her  former  tavern,  and  tried  with  all  his  might  to  re- 
venge himself  upon  her.  Once  the  village  elders  were 
assembled  in  the  tavern,  and,  as  the  saying  goes,  were 
arranging  the  precedence  at  the  table,  in  the  middle  of 
which  was  placed  a  small  roasted  lamb,  shame  to  say. 
They  chattered  about  this,  that,  and  the  other, — among 
the  rest  about  various  marvels  and  strange  things.  Well, 
they  saw  something;  it  would  have  been  nothing  if  only 
one  had  seen  it,  but  all  saw  it;  and  it  was  this:  the 
sheep  raised  his  head;  his  goggling  eyes  became  alive 
and  sparkled;  and  the  black,  bristling  moustache,  which 
appeared  for  one  instant,  made  a  significant  gesture  at 
those  present.  All,  at  once,  recognized  Basavriuk's 
countenance  in  the  sheep's  head:  my  grandfather's  aunt 

[77] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


thought  it  was  on  the  point  of  asking  for  vodka.  .  .  . 
The  worthy  elders  seized  their  hats,  and  hastened  home. 

Another  time,  the  church  starost  himself,  who  was 
fond  of  an  occasional  private  interview  with  my  grand- 
father's brandy-glass,  had  not  succeeded  in  getting  to 
the  bottom  twice,  when  he  beheld  the  glass  bowing  very 
low  to  him.  "Satan  take  you,  let  us  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross  over  you!"  .  .  .  And  the  same  marvel  hap- 
pened to  his  better  half.  She  had  just  begun  to  mix 
the  dough  in  a  huge  kneading-trough,  when  suddenly 
the  trough  sprang  up.  "Stop,  stop!  where  are  you  go- 
ing?" Putting  its  arms  akimbo,  with  dignity,  it  went 
skipping  all  about  the  cottage.  .  .  .  You.  may  laugh,  but 
it  was  no  laughing-matter  to  your  grandfathers.  And 
in  vain  did  Father  Athanasii  go  through  all  the  village 
with  holy  water,  and  chase  the  Devil  through  the  streets 
with  his  brush ;  and  my  late  grandfather's  aunt  long  com- 
plained, that,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  some  one  came 
knocking  at  her  door,  and  scratching  at  the  wall. 

Well!  All  appears  to  be  quiet  now,  in  the  place 
where  our  village  stands;  but  it  was  not  so  very  long 
ago — my  father  was  still  alive — that  I  remember  how  a 
good  man  could  not  pass  the  ruined  tavern,  which  a  dis- 
honest race  had  long  managed  for  their  own  interest. 
From  the  smoke-blackened  chimneys,  smoke  poured  out 
in  a  pillar,  and  rising  high  in  the  air,  as  if  to  take  an 
observation,  rolled  off  like  a  cap,  scattering  burning 
coals  over  the  steppe;  and  Satan  (the  son  of  a  dog  should 
not  be  mentioned)  sobbed  so  pitifully  in  his  lair,  that 
the  startled  ravens  rose  in  flocks  from  the  neighbouring 
oak-wood,  and  flew  through  the  air  with  wild  cries. 

[78] 


THE   DEVIL'S   WAGER 
BY    WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE     THACKERAY 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  night  when  there  be  none  stir- 
ring save  church-yard  ghosts  —  when  all  doors  are 
closed  except  the  gates  of  graves,  and  all  eyes  shut  but 
the  eyes  of  wicked  men. 

When  there  is  no  sound  on  the  earth  except  the  tick- 
ing of  the  grasshopper,  or  the  croaking  of  obscene  frogs 
in  the  pool. 

And  no  light  except  that  of  the  blinking  stars,  and 
the  wicked  and  devilish  wills-o'-the-wisp,  as  they  gambol 
among  the  marshes,  and  lead  good  men  astray. 

When  there  is  nothing  moving  in  heaven  except  the 
owl,  as  he  flappeth  along  lazily;  or  the  magician,  as  he 
rideth  on  his  infernal  broomstick,  whistling  through  the 
air  like  the  arrows  of  a  Yorkshire  archer. 

It  was  at  this  hour  (namely,  at  twelve  o'clock  of  the 
night,)  that  two  beings  went  winging  through  the  black 
clouds,  and  holding  converse  with  each  other. 

Now  the  first  was  Mercurius,  the  messenger,  not  of 
gods  (as  the  heathens  feigned),  but  of  demons;  and  the 
second,  with  whom  he  held  company,  was  the  soul  of 
Sir  Roger  de  Rollo,  the  brave  knight.  Sir  Roger  was 
Count  of  Chauchigny,  in  Champagne;  Seigneur  of  San- 
terre,  Villacerf  and  autre  lieux.     But  the  great  die  as 

[79] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


well  as  the  humble;  and  nothing  remained  of  brave 
Roger  now,  but  his  coffin  and  his  deathless  soul. 

And  Mercurius,  in  order  to  keep  fast  the  soul,  his 
companion,  had  bound  him  round  the  neck  with  his  tail; 
which,  when  the  soul  was  stubborn,  he  would  draw  so 
tight  as  to  strangle  him  wellnigh,  sticking  into  him  the 
barbed  point  thereof;  whereat  the  poor  soul,  Sir  Rollo, 
would  groan  and  roar  lustily. 

Now  they  two  had  come  together  from  the  gates  of 
purgatory,  being  bound  to  those  regions  of  fire  and 
flame  where  poor  sinners  fry  and  roast  in  saecula  saecu- 
lorum. 

"It  is  hard,"  said  the  poor  Sir  Rollo,  as  they  went 
gliding  through  the  clouds,  "that  I  should  thus  be  con- 
demned for  ever,  and  all  for  want  of  a  single  ave." 

"How,  Sir  Soul?"  said  the  demon.  "You  were  on 
earth  so  wicked,  that  not  one,  or  a  million  of  aves,  could 
suffice  to  keep  from  hell-flame  a  creature  like  thee;  but 
cheer  up  and  be  merry;  thou  wilt  be  but  a  subject  of 
our  lord  the  Devil,  as  am  I;  and,  perhaps,  thou  wilt  be 
advanced  to  posts  of  honour,  as  am  I  also :"  and  to  show 
his  authority,  he  lashed  with  his  tail  the  ribs  of  the 
wretched  Rollo. 

"Nevertheless,  sinner  as  I  am,  one  more  ave  would 
have  saved  me;  for  my  sister,  who  was  Abbess  of  St. 
Mary  of  Chauchigny,  did  so  prevail,  by  her  prayer  and 
good  works,  for  my  lost  and  wretched  soul,  that  every 
day  I  felt  the  pains  of  purgatory  decrease;  the  pitch- 
forks which,  on  my  first  entry,  had  never  ceased  to  vex 
and  torment  my  poor  carcass,  were  now  not  applied 
above  once  a  week;  the  roasting  had  ceased,  the  boiling 

[80] 


THE     devil's     wager 


had  discontinued;  only  a  certain  warmth  was  kept  up, 
to  remind  me  of  my  situation." 

"A  gentle  stew,"  said  the  demon. 

"Yea,  truly,  I  was  but  in  a  stew,  and  all  from  the 
effects  of  the  prayers  of  my  blessed  sister.  But  yester- 
day, he  who  watched  me  in  purgatory  told  me,  that  yet 
another  prayer  from  my  sister,  and  my  bonds  should  be 
unloosed,  and  I,  who  am  now  a  devil,  should  have  been 
a  blessed  angel." 

"And  the  other  ave?"  said  the  demon. 

"She  died,  sir — my  sister  died — death  choked  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  prayer."  And  hereat  the  wretched 
spirit  began  to  weep  and  whine  piteously;  his  salt  tears 
falling  over  his  beard,  and  scalding  the  tail  of  Mer- 
curius  the  devil. 

"It  is,  in  truth,  a  hard  case,"  said  the  demon;  "but  I 
know  of  no  remedy  save  patience,  and  for  that  you  will 
have  an  excellent  opportunity  in  your  lodgings  below." 

"But  I  have  relations,"  said  the  Earl;  "my  kinsman 
Randal,  who  has  inherited  my  lands,  will  he  not  say  a 
prayer  for  his  uncle?  " 

"Thou  didst  hate  and  oppress  him  when  living." 

"It  is  true;  but  an  ave  is  not  much;  his  sister,  my 
niece,  Matilda — " 

"You  shut  her  in  a  convent,  and  hanged  her  lover." 

"Had  I  not  reason?  besides,  has  she  not  others?" 

"A  dozen,  without  a  doubt." 

"And  my  brother,  the  prior?" 

"A  liege  subject  of  my  lord  the  Devil:  he  never  opens 
his  mouth,  except  to  utter  an  oath,  or  to  swallow  a  cup 
of  wine."  ]  .-.] 

[81] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"And  yet,  if  but  one  of  these  would  but  say  an  ave 
for  me,  I  should  be  saved." 

"Aves  with  them  are  rarae  aves,"  replied  Mercurius, 
wagging  his  tail  right  waggishly;  "and,  what  is  more, 
I  will  lay  thee  any  wager  that  no  one  of  these  will  say  a 
prayer  to  save  thee." 

"I  would  wager  willingly,"  responded  he  of  Chau- 
chigny;  "but  what  has  a  poor  soul  like  me  to  stake?" 

"Every  evening,  after  the  day's  roasting,  my  lord 
Satan  giveth  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  his  servants;  I  will 
bet  thee  thy  water  for  a  year,  that  none  of  the  three  will 
pray  for  thee." 

"Done!"  said  Rollo. 

"Done!"  said  the  demon;  and  here,  if  I  mistake  not, 
is  thy  castle  of  Chauchigny." 

Indeed,  it  was  true.  The  soul,  on  looking  down,  per- 
ceived the  tall  towers,  the  courts,  the  stables,  and  the 
fair  gardens  of  the  castle.  Although  it  was  past  mid- 
night, there  was  a  blaze  of  light  in  the  banqueting-hall, 
and  a  lamp  burning  in  the  open  window  of  the  Lady 
Matilda. 

"With  whom  shall  we  begin?"  said  the  demon:  "with 
the  baron  or  the  lady?" 

"With  the  lady,  if  you  will." 

"Be  it  so;  her  window  is  open,  let  us  enter." 

So  they  descended,  and  entered  silently  into  Matil- 
da's chamber. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  •. 

The  young  lady's  eyes  were  fixed  so  intently  on  a 
little  clock,  that  it  was  no  wonder  that  she  did  not  per- 
ceive the  entrance  of  her  two  visitors.     Her  fair  cheek 

[82] 


THE     DEVIL     S     WAGER 


rested  in  her  white  arm,  and  her  white  arm  on  the  cush- 
ion of  a  great  chair  in  which  she  sat,  pleasantly  sup- 
ported by  sweet  thoughts  and  swan's  down ;  a  lute  was  at 
her  side,  and  a  book  of  prayers  lay  under  the  table  (for 
piety  is  always  modest) .  Like  the  amorous  Alexander, 
she  sighed  and  looked  (at  the  clock) — and  siojhed  for 
ten  minutes  or  more,  when  she  softly  breathed  the  word 
"Edward!" 

At  this  the  soul  of  the  Baron  was  wroth.  "The  jade  is 
at  her  old  pranks,"  said  he  to  the  devil;  and  then  ad- 
dressing Matilda:  "I  pray  thee,  sweet  niece,  turn  thy 
thoughts  for  a  moment  from  that  villainous  paaje,  Ed- 
ward, and  give  them  to  thine  affectionate  uncle." 

When  she  heard  the  voice,  and  saw  the  awful  ap- 
parition of  her  uncle  (for  a  year's  soioum  in  pursjatory 
had  not  increased  the  comeliness  of  his  appearance), 
she  started,  screamed,  and  of  course  fainted. 

But  the  devil  Mercurius  soon  restored  her  to  herself. 
"What's  o'clock?"  said  she,  as  soon  as  she  had  recovered 
from  her  fit:  "is  he  come?" 

"Not  thy  lover,  Maude,  but  thine  uncle — that  is,  his 
soul.  For  the  love  of  heaven,  listen  to  me:  T  have  been 
frying  in  purgatory  for  a  year  past,  and  should 
have  been  in  heaven  but  for  the  want  of  a  single 
ave." 

"I  will  say  it  for  thee  tomorrow,  uncle." 

*Toni2:ht,  or  never." 

"Well,  tonight  be  it:"  and  she  requested  the  devil 
Mercurius  to  give  her  the  prayer-book,  from  under  the 
table;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the  holy  book  than 
he  dropped  it  with  a  shriek  and  a  yell.     "  It  was  hotter," 

[83] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


he  said,  "than  his  master  Sir  Lucifer's  own  particular 
pitchfork."  And  the  lady  was  forced  to  begin  her  ave 
without  the  aid  of  her  missal. 

At  the  commencement  of  her  devotions  the  demon 
retired,  and  carried  with  him  the  anxious  soul  of  poor 
Sir  Roger  de  Rollo. 

The  lady  knelt  down — she  sighed  deeply;  she  looked 
again  at  the  clock,  and  began — 

"Ave  Maria." 

When  a  lute  was  heard  under  the  window,  and  a  sweet 
voice  singing — 

"Hark!"  said  Matilda. 

"Now  the  toils  of  day  are  over, 
And  the  sun  hath  sunk  to  rest, 
Seeking,  like  a  fiery  lover, 

The  bosom  of  the  blushing  west  — 

"The  faithful  night  keeps  watch  and  ward, 
Raising  the  moon,  her  silver  shield, 
And  summoning  the  stars  to  guard 
The  slumbers  of  my  fair  Mathilde !  " 

"For  mercy's  sake!"  said  Sir  Rollo,  "the  ave  first,  and 
next  the  song." 

So  Matilda  again  dutifully  betook  her  to  her  devo- 
tions, and  began — 

"Ave  Maria  gratia  plena!"  but  the  music  began  again, 
and  the  prayer  ceased  of  course. 

"The  faithful  night!     Now  all  things  lie 
Hid  by  her  mantle  dark  and  dim, 
In  pious  hope  I  hither  hie. 

And  humbly  chant  mine  ev'ning  hymn. 

[84] 


THE     devil's     wager 


"Thou  art  my  prayer,  my  saint,  my  shrine! 
(For  never  holy  pilgrim  kneel'd, 
Or  wept  at  feet  more  pure  than  thine) , 
My  virgin  love,  my  sweet  Mathilde!  " 

"Virgin  love!"  said  the  Baron.  "Upon  my  soul,  this 
is  too  bad!"  and  he  thought  of  the  lady's  lover  whom  he 
had  caused  to  be  hanged. 

But  she  only  thought  of  him  who  stood  singing  at  her 
window. 

"Niece  Matilda!"  cried  Sir  Roger,  agonizedly,  "wilt 
thou  listen  to  the  lies  of  an  impudent  page,  whilst  thine 
uncle  is  waiting  but  a  dozen  words  to  make  him  happy?" 

At  this  Matilda  grew  angry:  "Edward  is  neither  im- 
pudent nor  a*  liar.  Sir  Uncle,  and  I  will  listen  to  the  end 
of  the  song." 

"  Come  away,"  said  Mercurius;  "he  hath  yet  got 
wield,  field,  sealed,  congealed,  and  a  dozen  other  rhymes 
beside;  and  after  the  song  will  come  the  supper." 

So  the  poor  soul  was  obliged  to  go;  while  the  lady 

listened,  and  the  page  sung  away  till  morning. 

•  ••••••• 

"My  virtues  have  been  my  ruin,"  said  poor  Sir  Rollo, 
as  he  and  Mercurius  slunk  silently  out  of  the  window. 
"Had  I  hanged  that  knave  Edward,  as  I  did  the  page  his 
predecessor,  my  niece  would  have  sung  mine  ave,  and  I 
should  have  been  by  this  time  an  angel  in  heaven." 

"He  is  reserved  for  wiser  purposes,"  responded  the 
devil:  "he  will  assassinate  your  successor,  the  lady  Ma- 
thilde's  brother;  and,  in  consequence,  will  be  hanged. 
In  the  love  of  the  lady  he  will  be  succeeded  by  a  gar- 

[85] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


dener,  who  will  be  replaced  by  a  monk,  who  will  give 
way  to  an  ostler,  who  will  be  deposed  by  a  Jew  pedlar, 
who  shall,  finally,  yield  to  a  noble  earl,  the  future  hus- 
band of  the  fair  Mathilde.  So  that,  you  see,  instead  of 
having  one  poor  soul  a-frying,  we  may  now  look  for- 
ward to  a  goodly  harvest  for  our  lord  the  Devil." 

The  soul  of  the  Baron  began  to  think  that  his  com- 
panion knew  too  much  for  one  who  would  make  fair 
bets;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it;  he  would  not,  and  he 
could  not  cry  off:  and  he  prayed  inwardly  that  the 
brother  might  be  found  more  pious  than  the  sister. 

But  there  seemed  little  chance  of  this.  As  they 
crossed  the  court,  lackeys,  with  smoking  dishes  and  full 
jugs,  passed  and  repassed  continually,  although  it  was 
long  past  midnight.  On  entering  the  hall,  they  found 
Sir  Randal  at  the  head  of  a  vast  table,  surrounded  by  a 
fiercer  and  more  motley  collection  of  individuals  than 
had  congregated  there  even  in  the  time  of  Sir  Rollo. 
The  lord  of  the  castle  had  signified  that  "it  was  his  royal 
pleasure  to  be  drunk,"  and  the  gentlemen  of  his  train 
had  obsequiously  followed  their  master.  Mercurius 
was  delighted  with  the  scene,  and  relaxed  his  usually 
rigid  countenance  into  a  bland  and  benevolent  smile, 
which  became  him  wonderfully. 

The  entrance  of  Sir  Roger,  who  had  been  dead  about 
a  year,  and  a  person  with  hoofs,  horns,  and  a  tail,  rather 
disturbed  the  hilarity  of  the  company.  Sir  Randal 
dropped  his  cup  of  wine;  and  Father  Peter,  the  confes- 
sor, incontinently  paused  in  the  midst  of  a  profane  song, 
with  which  he  was  amusing  the  society. 

"Holy  Mother!"  cried  he,  "it  is  Sir  Roger." 

[86] 


THE     devil's     wager 


"Alive!"  screamed  Sir  Randal. 

"No,  my  lord,"  Mercurius  said;  "Sir  Roger  is  dead, 
but  Cometh  on  a  matter  of  business;  and  I  have  the 
honour  to  act  as  his  counsellor  and  attendant." 

"Nephew,"  said  Sir  Roger,  "the  demon  saith  justly; 
I  am  come  on  a  trifling  affair,  in  which  thy  service  is 
essential." 

"I  will  do  anything,  uncle,  in  my  power." 

"Thou  canst  give  me  life,  if  thou  wilt?"  But  Sir 
Randal  looked  very  blank  at  this  proposition.  "I  mean 
life  spiritual,  Randal,"  said  Sir  Roger;  and  thereupon  he 
explained  to  him  the  nature  of  the  wager. 

Whilst  he  was  telling  his  story,  his  companion  Mercu- 
rius was  playing  all  sorts  of  antics  in  the  hall;  and,  by 
his  wit  and  fun,  became  so  popular  with  this  godless 
crew,  that  they  lost  all  the  fear  which  his  first  appear- 
ance had  given  them.  The  friar  was  wonderfully  taken 
with  him,  and  used  his  utmost  eloquence  and  endeavours 
to  convert  the  devil;  the  knights  stopped  drinking  to 
listen  to  the  argument;  the  men-at-arms  forbore  brawl- 
ing; and  the  wicked  little  pages  crowded  round  the  two 
strange  disputants,  to  hear  their  edifying  discourse. 
The  ghostly  man,  however,  had  little  chance  in  the 
controversy,  and  certainly  little  learning  to  carry  it  on. 
Sir  Randal  interrupted  him.  "Father  Peter,"  said  he, 
"our  kinsman  is  condemned  for  ever,  for  want  of  a 
single  ave:  wilt  thou  say  it  for  him?"  "Willingly,  my 
lord,"  said  the  monk,  "with  my  book;"  and  accordingly 
he  produced  his  missal  to  read,  without  which  aid  it  ap- 
peared that  the  holy  father  could  not  manage  the  desired 
prayer.     But  the  crafty  Mercurius  had,  bv  his  devilish 

[87] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


art,  inserted  a  song  in  the  place  of  the  ave,  so  that  Father 
Peter,  instead  of  chanting  an  hymn,  sang  the  following 
irreverent  ditty: — 

"Some  love  the  matin-chimes,  which  tell 

The  hour  of  prayer  to  sinner : 
But  better  far's  the  mid-day  bell, 

Which  speaks  the  hour  of  dinner ; 
For  when  I  see  a  smoking  fish. 

Or  capon  drowned  in  gravy, 
Or  noble  haunch  on  silver  dish, 

Full  glad  I  sing  mine  ave. 

"My  pulpit  is  an  ale-house  bench, 

Whereon  I  sit  so  jolly; 
A  smiling  rosy  country  wench 

My  saint  and  patron  holy. 
I  kiss  her  cheek  so  red  and  sleek, 

I  press  her  ringlets  wavy. 
And  in  her  willing  ear  I  speak 

A  most  religious  ave. 

"And  if  I'm  blind,  yet  heaven  is  kind, 
And  holy  saints  forgiving; 
For  sure  he  leads  a  right  good  life 
Who  thus  admires  good  living. 
Above,  they  say,  our  flesh  is  air, 
Our  blood  celestial  ichor: 
Oh,  grant!  mid  all  the  changes  there. 
They  may  not  change  our  liquor !  " 

And  with  this  pious  wish  the  holy  confessor  tumbled 
under  the  table  in  an  agony  of  devout  drunkenness; 
whilst  the  knights,  the  men-at-arms,  and  the  wicked  little 
pages,  rang  out  the  last  verse  with  a  most  melodious  and 

[88] 


THE     devil's     wager 


emphatic  glee.  "I  am  sorry,  fair  uncle,"  hiccupped  Sir 
Randal,  "that,  in  the  matter  of  the  ave,  we  could  not 
oblige  thee  in  a  more  orthodox  manner;  but  the  holy 
father  has  failed,  and  there  is  not  another  man  in  the 
hall  who  hath  an  idea  of  a  prayer." 

"It  is  my  own  fault,"  said  Sir  Rollo;  "for  I  hanged 
the  last  confessor."  And  he  wished  his  nephew  a  surly 
goodnight,  as  he  prepared  to  quit  the  room. 

"Au  revoir,  gentlemen,"  said  the  devil  Mercurius; 
and  once  more  fixed  his  tail  round  the  neck  of  his  dis- 
appointed companion. 

The  spirit  of  poor  Rollo  was  sadly  cast  down;  the 
devil,  on  the  contrary,  was  in  high  good  humour.  He 
wagged  his  tail  with  the  most  satisfied  air  in  the  world, 
and  cut  a  hundred  jokes  at  the  expense  of  his  poor  as- 
sociate. On  they  sped,  cleaving  swiftly  through  the  cold 
night  winds,  frightening  the  birds  that  were  roosting  in 
the  woods,  and  the  owls  that  were  watching  in  the  towers. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  as  it  is  known,  devils  can 
fly  hundreds  of  miles:  so  that  almost  the  same  beat  of 
the  clock  which  left  these  two  in  Champagne  found  them 
hovering  over  Paris.  They  dropped  into  the  court  of 
the  Lazarist  Convent,  and  winded  their  way,  through 
passage  and  cloister,  until  they  reached  the  door  of  the 
prior's  cell. 

Now  the  prior,  Rollo's  brother,  was  a  wicked  and 
malignant  sorcerer;  his  time  was  spent  in  conjuring  dev- 
ils and  doing  wicked  deeds,  instead  of  fasting,  scourg- 
ing, and  singing  holy  psahns:  this  Mercurius  knew;  and 
he,  therefore,  was  fully  at  ease  as  to  the  final  result  of 
his  wager  with  poor  Sir  Roger. 

[89] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  road,"  said 
the  knight. 

"I  have  reason,"  answered  Mercurius,  "having,  for  a 
long  period,  had  the  acquaintance  of  his  reverence,  your 
brother;  but  you  have  little  chance  with  him." 

"And  why?"  said  Sir  Rollo. 

"He  is  under  a  bond  to  my  master,  never  to  say  a 
prayer,  or  else  his  soul  and  his  body  are  forfeited  at 
once." 

"Why,  thou  false  and  traitorous  devil!"  said  the  en- 
raged knight;  "and  thou  knewest  this  when  we  made  our 
wager?" 

"Undoubtedly:  do  you  suppose  I  would  have  done  so 
had  there  been  any  chance  of  losing?" 

And  with  this  they  arrived  at  Father  Ignatius's  door. 

"Thy  cursed  presence  threw  a  spell  on  my  niece,  and 
slopped  the  tongue  of  my  nephew's  chaplain;  I  do  be- 
lieve that  had  I  seen  either  of  them  alone,  my  wager  had 
been  won." 

"Certainly;  therefore,  I  took  good  care  to  go  with 
thee;  however,  thou  mayest  see  the  prior  alone,  if  thou 
wilt;  and  lo!  his  door  is  open.  I  will  stand  without  for 
five  minutes  when  it  will  be  time  to  commence  our 
journey." 

It  was  the  poor  Baron's  last  chance:  and  he  entered 
his  brother's  room  more  for  the  five  minutes'  respite 
than  from  any  hope  of  success. 

Father  I^atius,  the  prior,  was  absorbed  in  mas-ic  cal- 
culations: he  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  circle  of  skulls, 
with  no  garment  except  his  long  white  beard,  which 
reached  to  his  knees;   he  was  waving  a   silver  rod, 

[90] 


THE     devil's     wager 


and  muttering  imprecations  in  some  horrible  tongue. 

But  Sir  Rollo  came  forward  and  interrupted  his  incan- 
tation. "I  am,"  said  he,  "the  shade  of  thy  brother 
Roger  de  Rollo;  and  have  come,  from  pure  brotherly 
love,  to  warn  thee  of  thy  fate." 

"Whence  camest  thou?" 

"From  the  abode  of  the  blessed  in  Paradise,"  replied 
Sir  Roger,  who  was  inspired  with  a  sudden  thought; 
"it  was  but  five  minutes  ago  that  the  Patron  Saint  of  thy 
church  told  me  of  thy  danger,  and  of  thy  wicked  com- 
pact with  the  fiend.  'Go,'  said  he,  'to  thy  miserable 
brother,  and  tell  him  there  is  but  one  way  by  which  he 
may  escape  from  paying  the  awful  forfeit  of  his  bond.'  " 

"And  how  may  that  be?"  said  the  prior;  "the  false 
fiend  hath  deceived  me;  I  have  given  him  my  soul,  but 
have  received  no  worldly  benefit  in  return.  Brother! 
dear  brother!  how  may  I  escape?" 

"I  will  tell  thee.  As  soon  as  I  heard  the  voice  of 
blessed  St.  Mary  Lazarus"  (the  worthy  Earl  had,  at  a 
pinch,  coined  the  name  of  a  saint),  "I  left  the  clouds, 
where,  with  other  angels,  I  was  seated,  and  sped  hither 
to  save  thee.  'Thy  brother,'  said  the  Saint,  'hath  but 
one  day  more  to  live,  when  he  will  become  for  all 
eternity  the  subject  of  Satan;  if  he  would  escape,  he 
must  boldly  break  his  bond,  by  saying  an  ave.'  " 

"It  is  the  express  condition  of  the  agreement,"  said 
the  unhappy  monk,  "I  must  say  no  prayer,  or  that  in- 
stant I  become  Satan's,  body  and  soul." 

"It  is  the  express  condition  of  the  Saint,"  answered 
Roger,  fiercely;  "pray,  brother,  pray,  or  thou  art  lost  for 
ever." 


[91] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


So  the  foolish  monk  knelt  down,  and  devoutly  sung 
out  an  ave.     "Amen!"  said  Sir  Roger,  devoutly. 

"Amen!"  said  Mercurius,  as,  suddenly,  coming  be- 
hind, he  seized  Ignatius  by  his  long  beard,  and  flew  up 
with  him  to  the  top  of  the  church-steeple. 

The  monk  roared,  and  screamed,  and  swore  against 
his  brother;  but  it  was  of  no  avail:  Sir  Roger  smiled 
kindly  on  him,  and  said,  "Do  not  fret,  brother;  it  must 
have  come  to  this  in  a  year  or  two." 

And  he  flew  alongside  of  Mercurius  to  the  steeple- 
top:  but  this  time  the  devil  had  not  his  tail  round  his 
neck,  "I  will  let  thee  off  thy  bet,"  said  he  to  the  de- 
mon; for  he  could  afford,  now,  to  be  generous. 

"I  believe,  my  lord,"  said  the  demon,  politely,  "that 
our  ways  separate  here."  Sir  Roger  sailed  gaily  up- 
wards: while  Mercurius  having  bound  the  miserable 
monk  faster  than  ever,  he  sunk  downwards  to  earth,  and 
perhaps  lower.  Ignatius  was  heard  roaring  and  scream- 
ing as  the  devil  dashed  him  against  the  iron  spikes  and 
buttresses  of  the  church. 


[92] 


THE   PAINTER'S    BARGAIN 
BY    WILLIAM    MAKEPEACE    THACKERAY 

Simon  Gambouge  was  the  son  of  Solomon  Gambouge; 
and  as  all  the  world  knows,  both  father  and  son  were 
astonishingly  clever  fellows  at  their  profession.  Sol- 
omon painted  landscapes,  which  nobody  bought;  and 
Simon  took  a  higher  line,  and  painted  portraits  to  ad- 
miration, only  nobody  came  to  sit  to  him. 

As  he  was  not  gaining  five  pounds  a  year  by  his  pro- 
fession, and  had  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty,  at  least, 
Simon  determined  to  better  himself  by  taking  a  wife, — 
a  plan  which  a  number  of  other  wise  men  adopt,  in 
similar  years  and  circumstances.  So  Simon  prevailed 
upon  a  butcher's  daughter  (to  whom  he  owed  consider- 
able for  cutlets)  to  quit  the  meat-shop  and  follow  him. 
Griskinissa — such  was  the  fair  creature's  name — "was 
as  lovely  a  bit  of  mutton,"  her  father  said,  "as  ever  a 
man  would  wish  to  stick  a  knife  into."  She  had  sat  to 
the  painter  for  all  sorts  of  characters;  and  the  curious 
who  possess  any  of  Gambouge's  pictures  will  see  her  as 
Venus,  Minerva,  Madonna,  and  in  numberless  other 
characters:  Portrait  of  a  lady — Griskinissa;  Sleeping 
Nymph — Griskinissa,  without  a  rag  of  clothes,  lying  in 
a  forest;  Maternal  Solicitude — Kriskinissa  again,  with 
young  Master  Gambouge,  who  was  by  this  time  the  off- 
spring of  their  affections. 

[93] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


The  lady  brought  the  painter  a  handsome  little  for- 
tune of  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds;  and  as  long  as  this 
sum  lasted  no  woman  could  be  more  lovely  or  loving. 
But  want  began  speedily  to  attack  their  little  household ; 
baker's  bills  were  unpaid;  rent  was  due,  and  the  reck- 
less landlord  gave  no  quarter;  and,  to  crown  the  whole, 
her  father,  unnatural  butcher!  suddenly  stopped  the  sup- 
plies of  mutton-chops;  and  swore  that  his  daughter,  and 
the  dauber,  her  husband,  should  have  no  more  of  his 
wares.  At  first  they  embraced  tenderly,  and,  kissing 
and  crying  over  their  little  infant,  vowed  to  heaven  that 
they  would  do  without:  but  in  the  course  of  the  evening 
Griskinissa  grew  peckish,  and  poor  Simon  pawned  his 
best  coat. 

When  this  habit  of  pawning  is  discovered,  it  appears 
to  the  poor  a  kind  of  Eldorado.  Gambouge  and  his  wife 
were  so  delighted,  that  they,  in  course  of  a  month,  made 
away  with  her  gold  chain,  her  great  warming-pan,  his 
best  crimson  plush  inexpressibles,  two  wigs,  a  washhand 
basin  and  ewer,  fire-irons,  window-curtains,  crockery, 
and  arm-chairs.  Griskinissa  said,  smiling,  that  she  had 
found  a  second  father  in  her  uncle, — a  base  pun,  which 
showed  that  her  mind  was  corrupted,  and  that  she  was  no 
longer  the  tender,  simple  Griskinissa  of  other  days. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  she  had  taken  to  drinking;  she 
swallowed  the  warming-pan  in  the  course  of  three  days, 
and  fuddled  herself  one  whole  evening  with  the  crimson 
plush  breeches. 

Drinking  is  the  devil — the  father,  that  is  to  say,  of  all 
vices.  Griskinissa's  face  and  her  mind  grew  ugly  to- 
gether; her  good  humour  changed  to  bilious,  bitter  dis- 

[94] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


content;  her  pretty,  fond  epithets,  to  foul  abuse  and 
swearing;  her  tender  blue  eyes  grew  watery  and  blear, 
and  the  peach-colour  on  her  cheeks  fled  from  its  old 
habitation,  and  crowded  up  into  her  nose,  where,  with 
a  number  of  pimples,  it  stuck  fast.  Add  to  this  a  dirty, 
draggle-tailed  chintz;  long,  matted  hair,  wandering  into 
her  eyes,  and  over  her  lean  shoulders,  which  were  once 
so  snowy,  and  you  have  the  picture  of  drunkenness  and 
Mrs.  Simon  Gambouge. 

Poor  Simon,  who  had  been  a  gay,  lively  fellow  enough 
in  the  days  of  his  better  fortune,  was  completely  cast 
down  by  his  present  ill  luck,  and  cowed  by  the  ferocity 
of  his  wife.  From  morning  till  night  the  neighbours 
could  hear  this  woman's  tongue,  and  understand  her  do- 
ings; bellows  went  skimming  across  the  room,  chairs 
were  flumped  down  on  the  floor,  and  poor  Gambouge's  oil 
and  varnish  pots  went  clattering  through  the  windows,  or 
down  the  stairs.  The  baby  roared  all  day;  and  Simon 
sat  pale  and  idle  in  a  comer,  taking  a  small  sup  at  the 
brandy-bottle,  when  Mrs.  Gambouge  was  out  of  the  way. 

One  day,  as  he  sat  disconsolately  at  his  easel,  furbish- 
ing up  a  picture  of  his  wife,  in  the  character  of  Peace, 
which  he  had  commenced  a  year  before,  he  was  more 
than  ordinarily  desperate,  and  cursed  and  swore  in  the 
most  pathetic  manner.  "0  miserable  fate  of  genius!" 
cried  he,  "was  I,  a  man  of  such  commanding  talents, 
bom  for  this?  to  be  bullied  by  a  fiend  of  a  wife;  to  have 
my  masterpieces  neglected  by  the  world,  or  sold  only  for 
a  few  pieces?  Cursed  be  the  love  which  has  misled 
me;  cursed  be  the  art  which  is  unworthy  of  me!  Let 
me  dig  or  steal,  let  me  sell  myself  as  a  soldier,  or  sell 

[95] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


myself  to  the  Devil,  I  should  not  be  more  wretched  than 
I  am  now!" 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  cried  a  small,  cheery  voice. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Gambouge,  trembling  and  sur- 
prised. "Who's  there? — ^where  are  you? — ^who  are 
you?" 

"You  were  just  speaking  of  me,"  said  the  voice. 

Gambouge  held,  in  his  left  hand,  his  palette;  in  his 
right,  a  bladder  of  crimson  lake,  which  he  was  about  to 
squeeze  out  upon  the  mahogany.  "Where  are  you?" 
cried  he  again. 

"S-q-u-e-e-z-e!"  exclaimed  the  little  voice. 

Gambouge  picked  out  the  nail  from  the  bladder,  and 
gave  a  squeeze;  when,  as  sure  as  I'm  living,  a  little  imp 
spurted  out  from  the  hole  upon  the  palette,  and  began 
laughing  in  the  most  singular  and  oily  manner. 

When  first  bom  he  was  little  bigger  than  a  tadpole; 
then  he  grew  to  be  as  big  as  a  mouse ;  then  he  arrived  at 
the  size  of  a  cat;  and  then  he  jumped  off  the  palette,  and, 
turning  head  over  heels,  asked  the  poor  painter  what 
he  wanted  with  him. 


The  strange  little  animal  twisted  head  over  heels,  and 
fixed  himself  at  last  upon  the  top  of  Gambouge's  easel, 
— smearing  out,  with  his  heels,  all  the  white  and  vermil- 
ion which  had  just  been  laid  on  the  allegoric  portrait  of 
Mrs.  Gambouge. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Simon,  "is  it  the—" 
"Exactly  so;  talk  of  me,  you  know,  and  I  am  always 
at  hand :  besides,  I  am  not  half  so  black  as  I  am  painted, 
as  you  will  see  when  you  know  me  a  little  better." 

[96] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  painter,  "it  is  a  very  singu- 
lar surprise  which  you  have  given  me.  To  tell  truth,  I 
did  not  even  believe  in  your  existence." 

The  little  imp  put  on  a  theatrical  air,  and  with  one  of 
Mr.  Macready's  best  looks,  said, — 

"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Gamhogio, 
Than  are  dreamed  of  in  your  philosophy." 

Gambouge,  being  a  Frenchman,  did  not  understand 
the  quotation,  but  felt  somehow  strangely  and  singularly 
interested  in  the  conversation  of  his  new  friend. 

Diabolus  continued :  "You  are  a  man  of  merit,  and 
want  money;  you  will  starve  on  your  merit;  you  can  only 
get  money  from  me.  Come,  my  friend,  how  much  is  it? 
I  ask  the  easiest  interest  in  the  world :  old  Mordecai,  the 
usurer,  has  made  you  pay  twice  as  heavily  before  now: 
nothing  but  the  signature  of  a  bond,  which  is  a  mere 
ceremony,  and  the  transfer  of  an  article  which,  in  itself, 
is  a  supposition — a  valueless,  windy,  uncertain  property 
of  yours,  called  by  some  poet  of  your  own,  I  think,  an 
animula,  vagula,  blandula — bah!  there  is  no  use  beating 
about  the  bush — I  mean  a  soul.  Come,  let  me  have  it; 
you  know  you  will  sell  it  some  other  way,  and  not  get 
such  good  pay  for  your  bargain!" — and,  having  made 
this  speech,  the  Devil  pulled  out  from  his  fob  a  sheet  as 
big  as  a  double  Times,  only  there  was  a  different  stamp 
in  the  corner. 

It  is  useless  and  tedious  to  describe  law  documents: 
lawyers  only  love  to  read  them;  and  they  have  as  good 
in  Chitty  as  any  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  Devil's  own; 

[97] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


SO  nobly  have  the  apprentices  emulated  the  skill  of  the 
master.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  poor  Gambouge  read  over 
the  paper,  and  signed  it.  He  was  to  have  all  he  wished 
for  seven  years,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  was  to  be- 
come the  property  of  the — ;  provided  that  during  the 
course  of  the  seven  years,  every  single  wish  which  he 
might  form  should  be  gratified  by  the  other  of  the  con- 
tracting parties;  otherwise  the  deed  became  null  and 
nonavenue,  and  Gambouge  should  be  left  "to  go  to  the 
— his  own  way." 

"You.  will  never  see  me  again,"  said  Diabolus,  in 
shaking  hands  with  poor  Simon,  on  whose  fingers  he  left 
such  a  mark  as  is  to  be  seen  at  this  day — "never,  at  least, 
unless  you  want  me;  for  everything  you  ask  will  be  per- 
formed in  the  most  quiet  and  every-day  manner:  believe 
me,  it  is  the  best  and  most  gentlemanlike,  and  avoids 
anything  like  scandal.  But  if  you  set  me  about  any- 
thing which  is  extraordinary,  and  out  of  the  course  of 
nature,  as  it  were,  come  I  must,  you  know;  and  of  this 
you  are  the  best  judge."  So  saying,  Diabolus  disap- 
peared; but  whether  up  the  chimney,  through  the  key- 
hole, or  by  any  other  aperture  or  contrivance,  nobody 
knows.  Simon  Gambouge  was  left  in  a  fever  of  delight, 
as,  heaven  forgive  me!  I  believe  many  a  worthy  man 
would  be,  if  he  were  allowed  an  opportunity  to  make  a 
similar  bargain. 

"Heigho!"  said  Simon.  "I  wonder  whether  this  be 
a  reality  or  a  dream. — I  am  sober,  I  know;  for  who  will 
give  me  credit  for  the  means  to  be  drunk?  and  as  for 
sleeping,  I'm  too  hungry  for  that.  I  wish  I  could  see  a 
capon  and  a  bottle  of  white  wine." 

[98] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


"Monsieur  Simon!"  cried  a  voice  on  the  landing- 
place. 

"C'est  ici,"  quoth  Gambouge,  hastening  to  open  the 
door.  He  did  so;  and  lo!  there  was  a  restaurateur's  boy 
at  the  door,  supporting  a  tray,  a  tin-covered  dish,  and 
plates  on  the  same;  and,  by  its  side,  a  tall  amber-col- 
oured flask  of  Sauteme. 

"I  am  the  new  boy,  sir,"  exclaimed  this  youth,  on 
entering;  "but  I  believe  this  is  the  right  door,  and  you 
asked  for  these  things." 

Simon  grinned,  and  said,  "Certainly,  I  did  ask  for 
these  things."  But  such  was  the  effect  which  his  inter- 
view with  the  demon  had  had  on  his  innocent  mind,  that 
he  took  them,  although  he  knew  they  were  for  old  Simon, 
the  Jew  dandy,  who  was  mad  after  an  opera  girl,  and 
lived  on  the  floor  beneath. 

"Go,  my  boy,"  he  said;  "it  is  good:  call  in  a  couple  of 
hours,  and  remove  the  plates  and  glasses." 

The  little  waiter  trotted  down  stairs,  and  Simon  sat 
greedily  down  to  discuss  the  capon  and  the  white  wine. 
He  bolted  the  legs,  he  devoured  the  wings,  he  cut  every 
morsel  of  flesh  from  the  breast; — seasoning  his  repast 
with  pleasant  draughts  of  wine,  and  caring  nothing  for 
the  inevitable  bill  which  was  to  follow  all. 

"Ye  gods!"  said  he,  as  he  scraped  away  at  the  back- 
bone, "what  a  dinner!  what  wine! — and  how  gaily 
served  up  too!"  There  were  silver  forks  and  spoons, 
and  the  remnants  of  the  fowl  were  upon  a  silver  dish. 
"Why  the  money  for  this  dish  and  these  spoons,"  cried 
Simon,  "would  keep  me  and  Mrs.  G.  for  a  month!  I 
wish" — and  here  Simon  whistled,  and  turned  round  to 

[99] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


see  that  no  one  was  peeping — "I  wish  the  plate  were 
mine." 

Oh,  the  horrid  progress  of  the  Devil!  "Here  they 
are,"  thought  Simon  to  himself;  "why  should  not  I 
take  them?"  and  take  them  he  did.  "Detection,"  said 
he,  "is  not  so  bad  as  starvation;  and  I  would  as  soon 
live  at  the  galleys  as  live  with  Madame  Gambouge." 

So  Gambouge  shovelled  dish  and  spoons  into  the  flap 
of  his  surtout,  and  ran  down  stairs  as  if  the  Devil  were 
behind  him — as,  indeed,  he  was. 

He  immediately  made  for  the  house  of  his  old  friend 
the  pawnbroker — that  establishment  which  is  called  in 
France  the  Mont  de  Piete.  "I  am  obliged  to  come  to 
you  again,  my  old  friend,"  said  Simon,  "with  some  fam- 
ily plate,  of  which  I  beseech  you  to  take  care." 

The  pawnbroker  smiled  as  he  examined  the  goods. 
"I  can  give  you  nothing  upon  them,"  said  he. 

"What!"  cried  Simon;  "not  even  the  worth  of  the 
silver?" 

"No;  I  could  buy  them  at  that  price  at  the  'Cafe 
Morisot,'  Rue  de  la  Verrerie,  where,  I  suppose,  you  got 
them  a  little  cheaper."  And,  so  saying,  he  showed  to 
the  guilt-stricken  Gambouge  how  the  name  of  that 
coffee-house  was  inscribed  upon  every  one  of  the  articles 
which  he  wished  to  pawn. 

The  eff"ects  of  conscience  are  dreadful  indeed.  Oh! 
how  fearful  is  retribution,  how  deep  is  despair,  how  bit- 
ter is  remorse  for  crime — ivhen  crime  is  found  out! — 
otherwise,  conscience  takes  matters  much  more  easily. 
Gambouge  cursed  his  fate,  and  swore  henceforth  to  be 
virtuous. 

[100] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


"But,  hark  ye,  my  friend,"  continued  the  honest 
broker,  "there  is  no  reason  why,  because  I  cannot  lend 
upon  these  things,  I  should  not  buy  them:  they  will  do 
to  melt,  if  for  no  other  purpose.  Will  you  have  half 
the  money? — speak,  or  I  peach." 

Simon's  resolves  about  virtue  were  dissipated  instan- 
taneously. "Give  me  half,"  he  said,  "and  lei  me  go. — 
What  scoundrels  are  these  pawnbrokers!"  ejaculated  he, 
as  he  passed  out  of  the  accursed  shop,  "seeking  every 
wicked  pretext  to  rob  the  poor  man  of  his  hard-won 
gain." 

When  he  had  marched  forwards  for  a  street  or  two, 
Gambouge  counted  the  money  which  he  had  received, 
and  found  that  he  was  in  possession  of  no  less  than  a 
hundred  francs.  It  was  night,  as  he  reckoned  out  his 
equivocal  gains,  and  he  counted  them  at  the  light  of  a 
lamp.  He  looked  up  at  the  lamp,  in  doubt  as  to  the 
course  he  should  next  pursue:  upon  it  was  inscribed  the 
simple  number,  152.  "A  gambling-house,"  thought 
Gambouge.  "I  wish  I  had  half  the  money  that  is  now 
on  the  table,  up  stairs." 

He  mounted,  as  many  a  rogue  has  done  before  him, 
and  found  half  a  hundred  persons  busy  at  a  table  of 
rouf^e  et  noir.  Gambous^e's  five  napoleons  looked  insig- 
nificant by  the  side  of  the  heaps  which  were  around  him ; 
but  the  effects  of  the  wine,  of  the  theft,  and  of  the  de- 
tection by  the  pawnbroker,  were  upon  him,  and  he  threw 
down  his  capital  stoutly  upon  the  0  0. 

It  is  a  dangerous  spot  that  0  0,  or  double  zero;  but  to 
Simon  it  was  more  lucky  than  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  ball  went  spinning  round — in  "its  predestined  circle 

[101] 


DEVIL     STORIES 

rolled,"  as  Shelley  has  it,  after  Goethe — and  plumped 
down  at  last  in  the  double  zero.  One  hundred  and  thir- 
ty-five gold  napoleons  (louis  they  were  then)  were 
counted  out  to  the  delighted  painter.  "Oh,  Diabolus!" 
cried  he,  "now  it  is  that  I  begin  to  believe  in  thee! 
Don't  talk  about  merit,"  he  cried;  "talk  about  fortune. 
Tell  me  not  about  heroes  for  the  future — tell  me  of 
zeroesJ^  And  down  went  twenty  napoleons  more  upon 
theO. 

The  Devil  was  certainly  in  the  ball:  round  it  twirled, 
and  dropped  into  zero  as  naturally  as  a  duck  pops  its 
head  into  a  pond.  Our  friend  received  five  hundred 
pounds  for  his  stake;  and  the  croupiers  and  lookers-on 
besran  to  stare  at  him. 

There  were  twelve  thousand  pounds  upon  the  table. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Simon  won  half,  and  retired  from 
the  Palais  Royal  with  a  thick  bundle  of  bank-notes 
crammed  into  his  dirty  three-cornered  hat.  He  had 
been  but  half  an  hour  in  the  place,  and  he  had  won  the 
revenues  of  a  prince  for  half  a  year! 

Gambouge,  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  he  was  a  capitalist, 
and  that  he  had  a  stake  in  the  country,  discovered  that 
he  was  an  altered  man.  He  repented  of  his  foul  deed, 
and  his  base  purloining  of  the  restaurateur  s  plate.  "0 
honesty!"  he  cried,  "how  unworthy  is  an  action  like  this 
of  a  man  who  has  a  property  like  mine!"  So  he  went 
back  to  the  pawnbroker  with  the  gloomiest  face  imagin- 
able. "My  friend/'  said  he,  "I  have  sinned  against  all 
that  I  hold  most  sacred :  I  have  forgotten  my  family  and 
my   religion.     Here   is   thv   money.     In   the   name   of 

[102] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


heaven,  restore  me  the  plate  which  I  have  wrongfully 
sold  thee!" 

But  the  pawnbroker  grinned,  and  said,  "Nay,  Mr. 
Gambouge,  I  will  sell  that  plate  for  a  thousand  francs  to 
you,  or  I  will  never  sell  it  at  all." 

"Well,"  cried  Gambouge,  "thou  art  an  inexorable 
ruffian,  Troisboules;  but  I  will  give  thee  all  I  am  worth." 
And  here  he  produced  a  billet  of  five  hundred  francs. 
"Look,"  said  he,  "this  money  is  all  I  own;  it  is  the  pay- 
ment of  two  years'  lodging.  To  raise  it,  I  have  toiled 
for  many  months;  and,  failing,  I  have  been  a  criminal. 

0  heaven!  I  stole  that  plate  that  I  might  pay  my  debt, 
and  keep  my  dear  wife  from  wandering  houseless.     But 

1  cannot  bear  this  load  of  ignominy — I  cannot  suffer  the 
thought  of  this  crime.  I  will  go  to  the  person  to  whom 
I  did  wrong.  I  will  starve,  I  will  confess;  but  I  will,  I 
will  do  right!" 

The  broker  was  alarmed.  "Give  me  thy  note,"  he 
cried;  "here  is  the  plate." 

"Give  me  an  acquittal  first,"  cried  Simon,  almost 
broken-hearted;  "sign  me  a  paper,  and  the  money  is 
yours."  So  Troisboules  wrote  according  to  Gambouge's 
dictation:  "Received,  for  thirteen  ounces  of  plate, 
twenty  pounds." 

"Monster  of  iniquity!"  cried  the  painter,  "fiend  of 
wickedness!  thou  art  caught  in  thine  own  snares.  Hast 
thou  not  sold  me  five  pounds'  worth  of  plate  for  twenty? 
Have  I  it  not  in  my  pocket?  Art  thou  not  a  convicted 
dealer  in  stolen  goods?  Yield,  scoundrel,  yield  thy 
money,  or  I  will  bring  thee  to  justice!" 

[103] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


The  frightened  pawnbroker  bullied  and  battled  for  a 

while;  but  he  gave  up  his  money  at  last,  and  the  dispute 

ended.     Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  Diabolus  had  rather 

a  hard  bargain  in  the  wily  Gambouge.     He  had  taken 

a  victim  prisoner,  but  he  had  assuredly  caught  a  Tartar. 

Simon  now  returned  home,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  paid 

the  bill  for  his  dinner,  and  restored  the  plate. 

•  ••••••• 

And  now  I  may  add  (and  the  reader  should  ponder 
upon  this,  as  a  profound  picture  of  human  life),  that 
Gambouge,  since  he  had  gro^vn  rich,  grew  likewise  abun- 
dantly moral.  He  was  a  most  exemplary  father.  He 
fed  the  poor,  and  was  loved  by  them.  He  scorned  a 
base  action.  And  I  have  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Thurtell,  or 
the  late  lamented  Mr.  Greenacre,  in  similar  circum- 
stances, would  have  acted  like  the  worthy  Simon  Gam- 
bouge. 

There  was  but  one  blot  upon  his  character — he  hated 
Mrs.  Gam.  worse  than  ever.  As  he  grew  more  benevo- 
lent, she  grew  more  virulent:  when  he  went  to  plays, 
she  went  to  Bible  societies,  and  vice  versa:  in  fact,  she 
led  him  such  a  life  as  Xantippe  led  Socrates,  or  as  a  dog 
leads  a  cat  in  the  same  kitchen.  With  all  his  fortune — 
for,  as  may  be  supposed,  Simon  prospered  in  all  worldly 
things — ^he  was  the  most  miserable  dog  in  the  whole  city 
of  Paris.  Only  in  the  point  of  drinking  did  he  and 
Mrs.  Simon  agree;  and  for  many  years,  and  during  a 
considerable  number  of  hours  in  each  day,  he  thus  dis- 
sipated, partially,  his  domestic  chagrin.  0  philosophy! 
we  may  talk  of  thee:  but,  except  at  the  bottom  of  the 

[104] 


THE     PAINTER     S     BARGAIN 


wine-cup,  where  thou  liest  like  truth  in  a  well,  where 
shall  we  find  thee? 

He  lived  so  long,  and  in  his  worldly  matters  pros- 
pered so  much,  there  was  so  little  sign  of  devilment  in 
the  accomplishment  of  his  wishes,  and  the  increase  of 
his  prosperity,  that  Simon,  at  the  end  of  six  years,  began 
to  doubt  whether  he  had  made  any  such  bargain  at  all, 
as  that  which  we  have  described  at  the  commencement  of 
this  history.  He  had  grown,  as  we  said,  very  pious  and 
moral.  He  went  regularly  to  mass,  and  had  a  confes- 
sor into  the  bargain.  He  resolved,  therefore,  to  consult 
that  reverend  gentleman,  and  to  lay  before  him  the 
whole  matter. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think,  holy  sir,"  said  Gambouge, 
after  he  had  concluded  his  history,  and  shown  how,  in 
some  miraculous  way,  all  his  desires  were  accomplished, 
"that,  after  all,  this  demon  was  no  other  than  the  crea- 
tion of  my  own  brain,  heated  by  the  effects  of  that  bot- 
tle of  wine,  the  cause  of  my  crime  and  my  prosperity." 

The  confessor  agreed  with  him,  and  they  walked  out 
of  church  comfortably  together,  and  entered  afterwards 
a  cafe,  where  they  sat  down  to  refresh  themselves  after 
the  fatigues  of  their  devotion. 

A  respectable  old  gentleman,  with  a  number  of  orders 
at  his  button-hole,  presently  entered  the  room,  and  saun- 
tered up  to  the  marble  table,  before  which  reposed  Si- 
mon and  his  clerical  friend.  "Excuse  me,  gentlemen," 
he  said,  as  he  took  a  place  opposite  them,  and  began 
reading  the  papers  of  the  day. 

"Bah!"  said  he,  at  last, — "sont-ils  grands  ces  jour- 
[105] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


naux  anglais?  Look,  sir,"  he  said,  handing  over  an 
immense  sheet  of  The  Times  to  Mr.  Gambouge,  "was 
ever  anything  so  monstrous?" 

Gambouge  smiled,  politely,  and  examined  the  prof- 
fered page.  "It  is  enormous,"  he  said;  "but  I  do  not 
read  English." 

"Nay,"  said  the  man  with  the  orders,  "look  closer  at 
it,  Signor  Gambouge;  it  is  astonishing  how  easy  the 
language  is." 

Wondering,  Simon  took  the  sheet  of  paper.  He 
turned  pale  as  he  looked  at  it,  and  began  to  curse  the 
ices  and  the  waiter.  "Come,  M.  I'Abbe,"  he  said;  "the 
heat  and  glare  of  this  place  are  intolerable." 

The  stranger  rose  with  them.  "Au  plaisir  de  vous 
revoir,  mon  cher  monsieur,"  said  he;  "I  do  not  mind 
speaking  before  the  Abbe  here,  who  will  be  my  very 
good  friend  one  of  these  days;  but  I  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  refresh  your  memory,  concerning  our  little 
business  transaction  six  years  since;  and  could  not  ex- 
actly talk  of  it  at  church,  as  you  may  fancy." 

Simon  Gambouge  had  seen,  in  the  double-sheeted 
Times,  the  paper  signed  by  himself,  which  the  little 
Devil  had  pulled  out  of  his  fob. 

There  was  no  doubt  on  the  subject;  and  Simon,  who 
had  but  a  year  to  live,  grew  more  pious,  and  more  care- 
ful than  ever.  He  had  consultations  with  all  the  doctors 
of  the  Sorbonne  and  all  the  lawyers  of  the  Palais.  But 
his  magnificence  grew  as  wearisome  to  him  as  his  pov- 
erty had  been  before;  and  not  one  of  the  doctors  whom 

[106] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


he  consulted  could  give  him  a  pennyworth  of  consola- 
tion. 

Then  he  grew  outrageous  in  his  demands  upon  the 
Devil,  and  put  him  to  all  sorts  of  absurd  and  ridiculous 
tasks;  but  they  were  all  punctually  performed,  until 
Simon  could  invent  no  new  ones,  and  the  Devil  sat  all 
day  with  his  hands   in  his  pockets   doing  nothing. 

One  day,  Simon's  confessor  came  bounding  into  the 
room,  with  the  greatest  glee.  "My  friend,"  said  he,  "I 
have  it!  Eureka! — I  have  found  it.  Send  the  Pope 
a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  build  a  new  Jesuit  college 
at  Rome,  give  a  hundred  gold  candlesticks  to  St.  Peter's; 
and  tell  his  Holiness  you  will  double  all  if  he  will  give 
you  absolution!" 

Gambouge  caught  at  the  notion,  and  hurried  off  a 
courier  to  Rome  ventre  a  terre.  His  Holiness  agreed  to 
the  request  of  the  petition,  and  sent  him  an  absolution, 
written  out  with  his  ovm  fist,  and  all  in  due  form. 

"Now,"  said  he,  "foul  fiend,  I  defy  you!  arise,  Dia- 
bolus!  your  contract  is  not  worth  a  jot:  the  Pope  has 
absolved  me,  and  I  am  safe  on  the  road  to  salvation." 
In  a  fervour  of  gratitude  he  clasped  the  hand  of  his 
confessor,  and  embraced  him:  tears  of  joy  ran  down 
the  cheeks  of  these  good  men. 

They  heard  an  inordinate  roar  of  laughter,  and  there 
was  Diabolus  sitting  opposite  to  them  holding  his  sides, 
and  lashing  his  tail  about,  as  if  he  would  have  gone 
mad  with  glee. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "what  nonsense  is  this!  do  you  sup- 
pose I  care  about  that?"  and  he  tossed  the  Pope's  mis- 
sive into  a  comer.     "M.  I'Abbe  knows,"  he  said,"  bow- 

[107] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


ing  and  grinning,  "that  though  the  Pope's  paper  may  pass 
current  here,  it  is  not  worth  twopence  in  our  country. 
What  do  I  care  about  the  Pope's  absolution?  You 
might  just  as  well  be  absolved  by  your  under  butler." 

"Egad,"  said  the  Abbe,  "the  rogue  is  right — I  quite 
forgot  the  fact,  which  he  points  out  clearly  enough." 

"No,  no,  GambougCj"  continued  Diabolus,  with  horrid 
familiarity,  "go  thy  ways,  old  fellow,  that  cock  won't 
fight,"  And  he  retired  up  the  chimney,  chuckling  at 
his  wit  and  his  triumph.  Gambouge  heard  his  tail 
scuttling  all  the  way  up,  as  if  he  had  been  a  sweeper 
by  profession. 

Simon  was  left  in  that  condition  of  grief  in  which, 
according  to  the  newspapers,  cities  and  nations  are 
found  when  a  murder  is  committed,  or  a  lord  ill  of  the 
gout — a  situation,  we  say,  more  easy  to  imagine  than  to 
describe. 

To  add  to  his  woes,  Mrs.  Gambouge,  who  was  now 
first  made  acquainted  with  his  compact,  and  its  probable 
consequences,  raised  such  a  storm  about  his  ears,  as 
made  him  wish  almost  that  his  seven  years  were  ex- 
pired. She  screamed,  she  scolded,  she  swore,  she  wept, 
she  went  into  such  fits  of  hysterics,  that  poor  Gambouge, 
who  had  completely  knocked  under  to  her,  was  worn  out 
of  his  life.  He  was  allowed  no  rest,  night  or  day:  he 
moped  about  his  fine  house,  solitary  and  wretched,  and 
cursed  his  stars  that  he  ever  had  married  the  butcher's 
daughter. 

It  wanted  six  months  of  the  time. 

A  sudden  and  desperate  resolution  seemed  all  at  once 
to   have   taken   possession   of   Simon   Gambouge.     He 

[108] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


called  his  family  and  his  friends  together — he  gave  one 
of  the  greatest  feasts  that  ever  was  known  in  the  city  of 
Paris — he  gaily  presided  at  one  end  of  his  table,  while 
Mrs.  Gam.,  splendidly  arrayed,  gave  herself  airs  at  the 
other  extremity. 

After  dinner,  using  the  customary  formula,  he  called 
upon  Diabolus  to  appear.  The  old  ladies  screamed  and 
hoped  he  would  not  appear  naked;  the  young  ones  tit- 
tered, and  longed  to  see  the  monster:  everybody  was 
pale  with  expectation  and  affright. 

A  very  quiet,  gentlemanly  man,  neatly  dressed  in 
black,  made  his  appearance,  to  the  surprise  of  all  pres- 
ent, and  bowed  all  round  to  the  company.  "I  will  not 
show  my  credentials,^^  he  said,  blushing,  and  pointing  to 
his  hoofs,  which  were  cleverly  hidden  by  his  pumps  and 
shoe-buckles,  "unless  the  ladies  absolutely  wish  it;  but 
I  am  the  person  you  want,  Mr.  Gambouge;  pray  tell  me 
what  is  your  will." 

"You  know,"  said  that  gentleman,  in  a  stately  and  de- 
termined voice,  "that  you  are  bound  to  me,  according  to 
our  agreement,  for  six  months  to  come." 

"I  am,"  replied  the  new  comer. 

"You  are  to  do  all  that  I  ask,  whatsoever  it  may  be,  or 
you  forfeit  the  bond  which  I  gave  you?" 

"It  is  true." 

"You  declare  this  before  the  present  company?" 

"Upon  my  honour,  as  a  gentleman,"  said  Diabolus, 
bowing,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  his  waistcoat. 

A  whisper  of  applause  ran  round  the  room:  all  were 
charmed  with  the  bland  manners  of  the  fascinating 
stranger. 

[109] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"My  love,"  continued  Gambouge,  mildly  addressing 
his  lady,  "will  you  be  so  polite  as  to  step  this  way? 
You  know  I  must  go  soon,  and  I  am  anxious,  before  this 
noble  company,  to  make  a  provision  for  one  who,  in 
sickness  as  in  health,  in  poverty  as  in  riches,  has  been 
my  truest  and  fondest  companion." 

Gambouge  mopped  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief 
— all  the  company  did  likewise.  Diabolus  sobbed  audi- 
bly, and  Mrs.  Gambouge  sidled  up  to  her  husband's 
side,  and  took  him  tenderly  by  the  hand.  "Simon!" 
said  she,  "is  it  true?  and  do  you  really  love  your  Gris- 
kinissa?" 

Simon  continued  solemnly:  "Come  hither,  Dia- 
bolus; you  are  bound  to  obey  me  in  all  things  for  the 
six  months  during  which  our  contract  has  to  run;  take, 
then,  Griskinissa  Gambouge,  live  alone  with  her  for  half 
a  year,  never  leave  her  from  morning  till  night,  obey 
all  her  caprices,  follow  all  her  whims,  and  listen  to  all 
the  abuse  which  falls  from  her  infernal  tongue.  Do 
this,  and  I  ask  no  more  of  you;  I  will  deliver  myself  up 
at  the  appointed  time." 

Not  Lord  G ,  when  flogged  by  Lord  B ,  in  the 

House, — ^not  Mr.  Cartlitch,  of  Astley's  Amphitheatre, 
in  his  most  pathetic  passages,  could  look  more  crest- 
fallen, and  howl  more  hideously,  than  Diabolus  did  now. 
"Take  another  year,  Gambouge,"  screamed  he;  "two 
more — ^ten  more — a  century;  roast  me  on  Lawrence's 
gridiron,  boil  me  in  holy  water,  but  don't  ask  that:  don't, 
don't  bid  me  live  with  Mrs.  Gambouge!" 

Simon  smiled  sternly.     "I  have  said  it,"  he  cried; 
"do  this,  or  our  contract  is  at  an  end." 

[110] 


THE     painter's     BARGAIN 


The  Devil,  at  this,  grinned  so  horribly  that  every  drop 
of  beer  in  the  house  turned  sour:  he  gnashed  his  teeth 
so  frightfully  that  every  person  in  the  company  wellnigh 
fainted  with  the  cholic.  He  slapped  down  the  great 
parchment  upon  the  floor,  trampled  upon  it  madly,  and 
lashed  it  with  his  hoofs  and  his  tail:  at  last,  spreading 
out  a  mighty  pair  of  wings  as  wide  as  froim  here  to 
Regent  Street,  he  slapped  Gambouge  with  his  tail  over 
one  eye,  and  vanished,  abruptly,  through  the  key-hole. 

Gambouge  screamed  with  pain  and  started  up.  "You 
drunken,  lazy  scoundrel!"  cried  a  shrill  and  well-known 
voice,  "you  have  been  asleep  these  two  hours:"  and  here 
he  received  another  terrific  box  on  the  ear. 

It  was  too  true,  he  had  fallen  asleep  at  his  work;  and 
the  beautiful  vision  had  been  dispelled  by  the  thumps 
of  the  tipsy  Griskinissa.  Nothing  remained  to  corrobor- 
ate his  story,  except  the  bladder  of  lake,  and  this  was 
spirted  all  over  his  waistcoat  and  breeches. 

"I  wish,"  said  the  poor  fellow,  rubbing  his  tingling 
cheeks,  "that  dreams  were  true;"  and  he  went  to  work 
again  at  his  portrait. 

•  ••••••• 

My  last  accounts  of  Gambouge  are,  that  he  has  left  the 
arts,  and  is  footman  in  a  small  family.  Mrs.  Gam. 
takes  in  washing;  and  it  is  said  that  her  continual  deal- 
ings with  soap-suds  and  hot  water  have  been  the  only 
things  in  life  which  have  kept  her  from  spontaneous 
combustion.  t 


[111] 


BON-BON 

BY    EDGAR    ALLAN    POE 

Quand  un  bon  vin  meuble  mon  estomac, 

Je  suis  plus  savant  que  Balzac — 

Plus  sage  que  Pibrac; 

Mon  bras  seul  faisant  I'attaque 

De  la  nation  cossaque, 

La  mettroit  au  sac; 

De  Charon  je  passerois  le  lac 

En  dormant  dans  son  bac; 

J'irois  au  fier  Eac, 

Sans  que  mon  coeur  fit  tic  ni  tac, 

Presenter  du  tabac. 

— French  Vaudeville. 

That  Pierre  Bon-Bon  was  a  restaurateur  of  uncommon 

qualifications,  no  man  who,  during  the  reign  of , 

frequented  the  little  cafe  in  the  cul-de-sac  Le  Febvre  at 
Rouen,  will,  I  imagine,  feel  himself  at  liberty  to  dis- 
pute. That  Pierre  Bon-Bon  was,  in  an  equal  degree, 
skilled  in  the  philosophy  of  that  period  is,  I  presume, 
still  more  especially  undeniable.  His  pates  a  la  fois 
were  beyond  doubt  immaculate;  but  what  pen  can  do 
justice  to  his  essays  sur  la  Nature — his  thoughts  sur 
VAme — his  observations  sur  VEsprit?  If  his  omelettes 
— if  his  fricandeaux  were  inestimable,  what  litterateur 
of  that  day  would  not  have  given  twice  as  much  for  an 
''Idee  de  Bon-Bon''  as  for  all  the  trash  of  all  the  ''Idees' 

[112] 


BON-BON 


of  all  the  rest  of  the  savants?  Bon-Bon  had  ransacked 
libraries  which  no  other  man  had  ransacked — ^had  read 
more  than  any  other  would  have  entertained  a  notion 
of  reading — ^had  understood  more  than  any  other  would 
have  conceived  the  possibility  of  understanding;  and 
although,  while  he  flourished,  there  were  not  wanting 
some  authors  at  Rouen  to  assert  "that  his  dicta  evinced 
neither  the  purity  of  the  Academy,  nor  the  depth  of  the 
Lyceum" — although,  mark  me,  his  doctrines  were  by 
no  means  very  generally  comprehended,  still  it  did  not 
follow  that  they  were  difficult  of  comprehension.  It 
was,  I  think,  on  account  of  their  self-evidency  that  many 
persons  were  led  to  consider  them  abstruse.  It  is  to 
Bon-Bon — but  let  this  go  no  further — it  is  to  Bon-Bon 
that  Kant  himself  is  mainly  indebted  for  his  metaphy- 
sics. The  former  was  indeed  not  a  Platonist,  nor 
strictly  speaking  an  Aristotelian — ^nor  did  he,  like  the 
modern  Leibnitz,  waste  those  precious  hours  which 
might  be  employed  in  the  invention  of  a  fricassee  or, 
facili  gradu,  the  analysis  of  a  sensation,  in  frivolous 
attempts  at  reconciling  the  obstinate  oils  and  waters  of 
ethical  discussion.  Not  at  all.  Bon-Bon  was  Ionic — 
Bon-Bon  was  equally  Italic.  He  reasoned  a  priori — He 
reasoned  a  posteriori.  His  ideas  were  innate — or  other- 
wise. He  believed  in  George  of  Trebizond — he  be- 
lieved in  Bossarion.  Bon-Bon  was  emphatically  a — 
Bon-Bonist. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  philosopher  in  his  capacity  of 
restaurateur.  I  would  not,  however,  have  any  friend  of 
mine  imagine  that,  in  fulfilling  his  hereditary  duties  in 
that  line,  our  hero  wanted  a  proper  estimation  of  their 

[113] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


dignity  and  importance.  Far  from  it.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  say  in  which  branch  of  his  profession  he  took  the 
greater  pride.  In  his  opinion  the  powers  of  the  intellect 
held  intimate  connection  with  the  capabilities  of  the 
stomach.  I  am  not  sure,  indeed,  that  he  greatly  dis- 
agreed with  the  Chinese,  who  hold  that  the  soul  lies  in 
the  abdomen.  The  Greeks  at  all  events  were  right,  he 
thought,  who  employed  the  same  word  for  the  mind  and 
the  diaphragm.^  By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  a 
charge  of  gluttony,  or  indeed  any  other  serious  charge  to 
the  prejudice  of  the  metaphysician.  If  Pierre  Bon- 
Bon  had  his  failings — and  what  great  man  has  not  a 
thousand? — if  Pierre  Bon-Bon,  I  say,  had  his  failings, 
they  were  failings  of  very  little  importance — ^faults  in- 
deed which,  in  other  tempers,  have  often  been  looked 
upon  rather  in  the  light  of  virtues.  As  regards  one  of 
these  foibles,  I  should  not  even  have  mentioned  it  in 
this  history  but  for  the  remarkable  prominency — the 
extreme  alto  relievo — in  which  it  jutted  out  from  the 
plane  of  his  general  disposition.  He  could  never  let 
slip  an  opportunity  of  making  a  bargain. 

Not  that  he  was  avaricious — no.  It  was  by  no  means 
necessary  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  philosopher,  that  the 
bargain  should  be  to  his  own  proper  advantage.  Pro- 
vided a  trade  could  be  effected — a  trade  of  any  kind, 
upon  any  terms,  or  under  any  circumstances — a  trium- 
phant smile  was  seen  for  many  days  thereafter  to  en- 
lighten his  countenance,  and  a  knowing  wink  of  the  eye 
to  give  evidence  of  his  sagacity. 

At  any  epoch  it  would  not  be  v^ry  wonderful  if  a 

[114] 


BON-BON 


humour  so  peculiar  as  the  one  I  have  just  mentioned, 
should  elicit  attention  and  remark.  At  the  epoch  of  our 
narrative,  had  this  peculiarity  not  attracted  observation, 
there  would  have  been  room  for  wonder  indeed.  It  was 
soon  reported  that,  upon  all  occasions  of  the  kind,  the 
smile  of  Bon-Bon  was  found  to  differ  widely  from  the 
downright  grin  with  which  he  would  laugh  at  his  own 
jokes,  or  welcome  an  acquaintance.  Hints  were  thrown 
out  of  an  exciting  nature;  stories  were  told  of  perilous 
bargains  made  in  a  hurry  and  repented  of  at  leisure; 
and  instances  were  adduced  of  unaccountable  capacities, 
vague  longings,  and  unnatural  inclinations  implanted 
by  the  author  of  all  evil  for  wise  purposes  of  his  own. 

The  philosopher  had  other  weaknesses — but  they  are 
scarcely  worthy  our  serious  examination.  For  example, 
there  are  few  men  of  extraordinary  profundity  who  are 
found  wanting  in  an  inclination  for  the  bottle. 
Whether  this  inclination  be  an  exciting  cause,  or  rather 
a  valid  proof,  of  such  profundity,  it  is  a  nice  thing  to 
say.  Bon-Bon,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  did  not  think  the 
subject  adapted  to  minute  investigation; — nor  do  I. 
Yet  in  the  indulgence  of  a  propensity  so  truly  clas- 
sical, it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  restaurateur  would 
lose  sight  of  that  intuitive  discrimination  which  was  wont 
to  characterize,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  his  essais  and 
his  omelettes.  In  his  seclusions  the  Vin  de  Bourgogne 
had  its  allotted  hour,  and  there  were  appropriate  mo- 
ments for  the  Cotes  du  Rhone.  With  him  Sautemes  was 
to  Medoc  what  Catullus  was  to  Homer.  He  would  sport 
with  a  syllogism  in  sipping  St.  Peray,  but  unravel  an 
argument  over  Clos-Vougeot,  and  upset  a  theory  in  a 

[115] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


torrent  of  Chambertin.  Well  had  it  been  if  the  same 
quick  sense  of  propriety  had  attended  him  in  the  ped- 
dling propensity  to  which  I  have  formerly  alluded — but 
this  was  by  no  means  the  case.  Indeed  to  say  the  truth, 
that  trait  of  mind  in  the  philosophic  Bon-Bon  did  begin 
at  length  to  assume  a  character  of  strange  intensity  and 
mysticism,  and  appeared  deeply  tinctured  with  the 
diablerie  of  his  favourite  German  studies. 

To  enter  the  little  cafe  in  the  cul-de-sac  Le  Febvre  was, 
at  the  period  of  our  tale,  to  enter  the  sanctum  of  a  man 
of  genius.  Bon-Bon  was  a  man  of  genius.  There  was 
not  a  sous-cuisinier  in  Rouen  who  could  not  have  told 
you  that  Bon-Bon  was  a  man  of  genius.  His  very  cat 
knew  it,  and  forbore  to  whisk  her  tail  in  the  presence 
of  the  man  of  genius.  His  large  water-dog  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact,  and  upon  the  approach  of  his 
master,  betrayed  his  sense  of  inferiority  by  a  sanctity 
of  deportment,  a  debasement  of  the  ears,  and  a  drop- 
ping of  the  lower  jaw  not  altogether  unworthy  of  a  dog. 
It  is,  however,  true  that  much  of  this  habitual  respect 
might  have  been  attributed  to  the  personal  appearance 
of  the  metaphysician.  A  distinguished  exterior  will, 
I  am  constrained  to  say,  have  its  way  even  with  a  beast; 
and  I  am  willing  to  allow  much  in  the  outward  man  of 
the  restaurateur  calculated  to  impress  the  imagination  of 
the  quadruped.  There  is  a  peculiar  majesty  about  the 
atmosphere  of  the  little  great — if  I  may  be  permitted  so 
equivocal  an  expression — ^which  mere  physical  bulk 
alone  will  be  found  at  all  times  inefficient  in  creating. 
If,  however,  Bon-Bon  was  barely  three  feet  in  height, 
and  if  his  head  was  diminutively  small,  still  it  was  im- 

[116] 


BON-BON 


possible  to  behold  the  rotundity  of  his  stomach  without 
a  sense  of  magnificence  nearly  bordering  upon  the  sub- 
lime. In  its  size  both  dogs  and  men  must  have  seen  a 
type  of  his  acquirements — in  its  immensity  a  fitting  hab- 
itation for  his  immortal  soul. 

I  might  here — if  it  so  pleased  me — dilate  upon  the 
matter  of  habiliment,  and  other  mere  circumstances  of 
the  external  metaphysician.  I  might  hint  that  the  hair 
of  our  hero  was  worn  short,  combed  smoothly  over  his 
forehead,  and  surmounted  by  a  conical-shaped  white 
flannel  cap  and  tassels — that  his  pea-green  jerkin  was 
not  after  the  fashion  of  those  worn  by  the  common  class 
of  restaurateurs  at  that  day — that  the  sleeves  were  some- 
thing fuller  than  the  reigning  costume  permitted — ^that 
the  cuffs  were  turned  up,  not  as  usual  in  that  barbarous 
period,  with  cloth  of  the  same  quality  and  colour  as  the 
garment,  but  faced  in  a  more  fanciful  manner  with  the 
particoloured  velvet  of  Genoa — that  his  slippers  were 
of  bright  purple,  curiously  filigreed,  and  might  have 
been  manufactured  in  Japan,  but  for  the  exquisite  point- 
ing of  the  toes,  and  the  brilliant  tints  of  the  binding  and 
embroidery — that  his  breeches  were  of  the  yellow  satin- 
like material  called  aimable — that  his  sky-blue  cloak, 
resembling  in  form  a  dressing-wrapper,  and  richly  be- 
studded  all  over  with  crimson  devices,  floated  cava- 
liery  upon  his  shoulders  like  a  mist  of  the  morning — 
and  that  his  tout  ensemble  gave  rise  to  the  remarkable 
words  of  Benevenuta,  the  Improvisatrice  of  Florence, 
"that  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  Pierre  Bon-Bon  was 
indeed  a  bird  of  Paradise,  or  the  rather  a  very  Paradise 
of  perfection."     I  might,  I  say,  expatiate  upon  all  these 

[117] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


points  if  I  pleased, — but  I  forbear;  merely  personal  de- 
tails may  be  left  to  historical  novelists, — they  are  be- 
neath the  moral  dignity  of  matter-of-fact. 

I  have  said  that  "to  enter  the  cafe  in  the  cul-de-sac  Le 
Febvre  was  to  enter  the  sanctum  of  a  man  of  genius" — 
but  then  it  was  only  the  man  of  genius  who  could  duly 
estimate  the  merits  of  the  sanctum,  A  sign,  consisting 
of  a  vast  folio,  swung  before  the  entrance.  On  one  side 
of  the  volume  was  painted  a  bottle;  on  the  reverse  a 
pate.  On  the  back  were  visible  in  large  letters  Oeuvres 
de  Bon-Bon,  Thus  was  delicately  shadowed  forth  the 
twofold  occupation  of  the  proprietor. 

Upon  stepping  over  the  threshold,  the  whole  interior 
of  the  building  presented  itself  to  view.  A  long,  low- 
pitched  room,  of  antique  construction,  was  indeed  all 
the  accommodation  afforded  by  the  cafe.  In  a  comer 
of  the  apartment  stood  the  bed  of  the  metaphysician. 
An  array  of  curtains,  together  with  a  canopy  a  la 
grecque,  gave  it  an  air  at  once  classic  and  comfortable. 
In  the  comer  diagonally  opposite,  appeared,  in  direct 
family  communion,  the  properties  of  the  kitchen  and  the 
bibliotheque,  A  dish  of  polemics  stood  peacefully 
upon  the  dresser.  Here  lay  an  ovenful  of  the  latest 
ethics — there  a  kettle  of  duodecimo  melanges.  Vol- 
umes of  German  morality  were  hand  and  glove  with 
the  gridiron — a  toasting-fork  might  be  discovered  by  the 
side  of  Eusebius — Plato  reclined  at  his  ease  in  the  fry- 
ing-pan— and  contemporary  manuscripts  were  filed 
away  upon  the  spit. 

In  other  respects  the  Cafe  de  Bon-Bon  might  be  said 
to  differ  little  from  the  usual  restaurants  of  the  period. 

[118] 


BON-BON 


A  large  fireplace  yawned  opposite  the  door.  On  the 
right  of  the  fireplace  an  open  cupboard  displayed  a 
formidable  array  of  labelled  bottles. 

It  was  here,  about  twelve  o'clock  one  night,  during 
the  severe  winter  of ,  that  Pierre  Bon-Bon,  after  hav- 
ing listened  for  some  time  to  the  comments  of  his  neigh- 
bours upon  his  singular  propensity — that  Pierre  Bon- 
Bon,  I  say,  having  turned  them  all  out  of  his  house, 
locked  the  door  upon  them  with  an  oath,  and  betook  him- 
self in  no  very  pacific  mood  to  the  comforts  of  a  leather- 
bottomed  arm-chair,  and  a  fire  of  blazing  fagots. 

It  was  one  of  those  terrific  nights  which  are  only  met 
with  once  or  twice  during  a  century.  It  snowed  fiercely, 
and  the  house  tottered  to  its  centre  with  the  floods  of 
wind  that,  rushing  through  the  crannies  of  the  wall,  and 
pouring  impetuously  down  the  chimney,  shook  awfully 
the  curtains  of  the  philosopher's  bed,  and  disorganized 
the  economy  of  his  pdte-pans  and  papers.  The  huge 
folio  sign  that  swung  without,  exposed  to  the  fury  of 
the  tempest,  creaked  ominously,  and  gave  out  a  moan- 
ing sound  from  its  stanchions  of  solid  oak. 

It  was  in  no  placid  temper,  I  say,  that  the  metaphysi- 
cian drew  up  his  chair  to  its  customary  station  by  the 
hearth.  Many  circumstances  of  a  perplexing  nature 
had  occurred  during  the  day,  to  disturb  the  serenity  of 
his  meditations.  In  attempting  des  ceufs  a  la  Princesse, 
he  had  unfortunately  perpetrated  an  omelette  a  la  Reine; 
the  discovery  of  a  principle  in  ethics  had  been  frustrated 
by  the  overturning  of  a  stew;  and  last,  not  least,  he  had 
been  thwarted  in  one  of  those  admirable  bargains  which 
he  at  all  times  took  such  especial  delight  in  bringing  to 

[119] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


a  successful  termination.  But  in  the  chafing  of  his 
mind  at  these  unaccountable  vicissitudes,  there  did  not 
fail  to  be  mingled  some  degree  of  that  nervous  anxiety 
which  the  fury  of  a  boisterous  night  is  so  well  calculated 
to  produce.  Whistling  to  his  more  immediate  vicinity 
the  large  black  water-dog  we  have  spoken  of  before,  and 
settling  himself  uneasily  in  his  chair,  he  could  not  help 
casting  a  wary  and  unquiet  eye  toward  those  distant  re- 
cesses of  the  apartment  whose  inexorable  shadows  not 
even  the  red  fire-light  itself  could  more  than  partially 
succeed  in  overcoming.  Having  completed  a  scrutiny 
whose  exact  purpose  was  perhaps  unintelligible  to  him- 
self, he  drew  close  to  his  seat  a  small  table  covered  with 
books  and  papers,  and  soon  became  absorbed  in  the  task 
of  retouching  a  voluminous  manuscript,  intended  for 
publication  on  the  morrow. 

He  had  been  thus  occupied  for  some  minutes,  when 
"I  am  in  no  hurry.  Monsieur  Bon-Bon,"  suddenly  whis- 
pered a  whining  voice  in  the  apartment. 

"The  devil!"  ejaculated  our  hero,  starting  to  his  feet, 
overturning  the  table  at  his  side,  and  staring  around 
him  in  astonishment. 

"Very  true,"  calmly  replied  the  voice. 

"Very  true! — what  is  very  true? — how  came  you 
here?"  vociferated  the  metaphysician,  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  something  which  lay  stretched  at  full  length  upon 
the  bed. 

"I  was  saying,"  said  the  intruder,  without  attending  to 
the  interrogatories, — "I  was  saying  that  I  am  not  at  all 
pushed  for  time — that  the  business,  upon  which  I  took 
the  liberty  of  calling,  is  of  no  pressing  importance — in 

[120] 


BON-BON 


short,  that  I  can  very  well  wait  until  you  have  finished 
your  Exposition." 

"My  Exposition! — ^there  now! — how  do  you  know? — 
how  came  you  to  understand  that  I  was  writing  an  Expo- 
sition— good  God!" 

"Hush!"  replied  the  figure,  in  a  shrill  undertone; 
and,  arising  quickly  from  the  bed,  he  made  a  single  step 
toward  our  hero,  while  an  iron  lamp  that  depended  over- 
head swung  convulsively  back  from  his  approach. 

The  philosopher's  amazement  did  not  prevent  a  nar- 
row scrutiny  of  the  stranger's  dress  and  appearance. 
The  outlines  of  his  figure,  exceedingly  lean,  but  much 
above  the  common  height,  were  rendered  minutely  dis- 
tinct by  means  of  a  faded  suit  of  black  cloth  which  fitted 
tight  to  the  skin,  but  was  otherwise  cut  very  much  in  the 
style  of  a  century  ago.  These  garments  had  evidently 
been  intended  for  a  much  shorter  person  than  their  pres- 
ent owner.  His  ankles  and  wrists  were  left  naked  for 
several  inches.  In  his  shoes,  however,  a  pair  of  ver}^ 
brilliant  buckles  gave  the  lie  to  the  extreme  poverty  im- 
plied by  the  other  portions  of  his  dress.  His  head  was 
bare,  and  entirely  bald,  with  the  exception  of  the  hinder- 
part,  from  which  depended  a  queue  of  considerable 
length.  A  pair  of  green  spectacles,  with  side  glasses, 
protected  his  eyes  from  the  influence  of  the  light,  and  at 
the  same  time  prevented  our  hero  from  ascertaining 
either  their  colour  or  their  conformation.  About  the 
entire  person  there  was  no  evidence  of  a  shirt;  but  a 
white  cravat,  of  filthy  appearance,  was  tied  with  ex- 
treme precision  around  the  throat,  and  the  ends,  hang- 
ing down  formally  side  by  side  gave  (although  I  dare 

[121] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


say  unintentionally)  the  idea  of  an  ecclesiastic.  In- 
deed, many  other  points  both  in  his  appearance  and  de- 
meanour might  have  very  well  sustained  a  conception  of 
that  nature.  Over  his  left  ear,  he  carried,  after  the 
fashion  of  a  modern  clerk,  an  instrument  resembling  the 
stylus  of  the  ancients.  In  a  breast-pocket  of  his  coat 
appeared  conspicuously  a  small  black  volume  fastened 
with  clasps  of  steel.  This  book,  whether  accidentally 
or  not,  was  so  turned  outwardly  from  the  person  as  to 
discover  the  words  "Rituel  Catholique"  in  white  letters 
upon  the  back.  His  entire  physiognomy  was  interest- 
ingly saturnine — even  cadaverously  pale.  The  fore- 
head was  lofty,  and  deeply  furrowed  with  the  ridges  of 
contemplation.  The  comers  of  the  mouth  were  drawn 
down  into  an  expression  of  the  most  submissive  humility. 
There  was  also  a  clasping  of  the  hands,  as  he  stepped 
towards  our  hero — a  deep  sigh — and  altogether  a  look 
of  such  utter  sanctity  as  could  not  have  failed  to  be 
unequivocally  prepossessing.  Every  shadow  of  anger 
faded  from  the  countenance  of  the  metaphysician,  as, 
having  completed  a  satisfactory  survey  of  his  visitor's 
person,  he  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  con- 
ducted him  to  a  seat. 

There  would  however  be  a  radical  error  in  attribut- 
ing this  instantaneous  transition  of  feeling  in  the  phi- 
losopher to  any  one  of  those  causes  which  might  nat- 
urally be  supposed  to  have  had  an  influence.  Indeed, 
Pierre  Bon-Bon,  from  what  I  have  been  able  to  under- 
stand of  his  disposition,  was  of  all  men  the  least  likely 
to  be  imposed  upon  by  any  speciousness  of  exterior  de- 
portment.    It  was  impossible  that  so  accurate  an  ob- 

[122] 


BON-BON 


server  of  men  and  things  should  have  failed  to  discover, 
upon  the  moment,  the  real  character  of  the  personage 
who  had  thus  intruded  upon  his  hospitality.  To  say  no 
more,  the  conformation  of  his  visitor's  feet  was  suf- 
ficiently remarkable — ^he  maintained  lightly  upon  his 
head  an  inordinately  tall  hat — there  was  a  tremulous 
swelling  about  the  hinder-part  of  his  breeches — and  the 
vibration  of  his  coat  tail  was  a  palpable  fact.  Judge, 
then,  with  what  feelings  of  satisfaction  our  hero  found 
himself  thrown  thus  at  once  into  the  society  of  a  person 
for  whom  he  had  at  all  times  entertained  the  most  un- 
qualified respect.  He  was,  however,  too  much  of  the 
diplomatist  to  let  escape  him  any  intimation  of  his  sus- 
picions in  regard  to  the  true  state  of  affairs.  It  was  not 
his  cue  to  appear  at  all  conscious  of  the  high  honour  he 
thus  unexpectedly  enjoyed;  but,  by  leading  his  guest 
into  conversation,  to  elicit  some  important  ethical  ideas, 
which  might,  in  obtaining  a  place  in  his  contemplated 
publication,  enlighten  the  human  race,  and  at  the  same 
time  immortalize  himself — ideas  which,  I  should  have 
added,  his  visitor's  great  age,  and  well-known  profi- 
ciency in  the  science  of  morals,  might  very  well  have 
enabled  him  to  afford. 

Actuated  by  these  enlightened  views,  our  hero  bade 
the  gentleman  sit  down,  while  he  himself  took  occasion 
to  throw  some  fagots  upon  the  fire,  and  place  upon  the 
now  re-established  table  some  bottles  of  Mousseaux. 
Having  quickly  completed  these  operations,  he  drew  his 
chair  vis-a-vis  to  his  companion's,  and  waited  until  the 
latter  should  open  the  conversation.  But  plans  even 
the  most  skilfully  matured  are  often  thwarted  in  the 

[123] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


outset  of  their  application — and  the  restaurateur  found 
himself  nonplussed  by  the  very  first  words  of  his  vis- 
itor's speech. 

"I  see  you  know  me,  Bon-Bon,"  said  he;  "ha!  ha! 
ha!— he!  he!  he!— hi!  hi!  hi— ho!  ho!  ho!— hu! 
hu!  hu!" — and  the  Devil,  dropping  at  once  the  sanctity 
of  his  demeanour,  opened  to  its  fullest  extent  a  mouth 
from  ear  to  ear,  so  as  to  display  a  set  of  jagged  and 
fang-like  teeth,  and,  throwing  back  his  head,  laughed 
long,  loudly,  wickedly,  and  uproariously,  while  the 
black  dog,  crouching  down  upon  his  haunches,  joined 
lustily  in  the  chorus,  and  the  tabby  cat,  flying  off  a  tan- 
gent, stood  up  on  end,  and  shrieked  in  the  farthest  cor- 
ner of  the  apartment. 

Not  so  the  philosopher:  he  was  too  much  a  man  of 
the  world  either  to  laugh  like  the  dog,  or  by  shrieks  to 
betray  the  indecorous  trepidation  of  the  cat.  It  must 
be  confessed,  he  felt  a  little  astonishment  to  see  the 
white  letters  which  formed  the  words  '^Rituel  Catho- 
lique"  on  the  book  in  his  guest's  pocket,  momently  chang- 
ing both  their  colour  and  their  import,  and  in  a  few  sec- 
onds, in  place  of  the  original  title,  the  words  ''Registre 
des  Condamnes"  blaze  forth  in  characters  of  red.  This 
startling  circumstance,  when  Bon-Bon  replied  to  his  vis- 
itor's remark,  imparted  to  his  manner  an  air  of  em- 
barrassment which  probably  might  not  otherwise  have 
been  observed. 

"Why,  sir,"  said  the  philosopher,  "why,  sir,  to  speak 
sincerely — I  believe  you  are — upon  my  word — the  d — 
dest — that  is  to  say,  I  think — I  imagine — I  have  some 

[124] 


BON-BON 


faint — some  very  faint  idea — of  the  remarkable  hon- 
our— "  . 

"Oh! — ah! — yes! — very  well!"  interrupted  lis  Ma- 
jesty; "say  no  more — I  see  how  it  is."  And  hereupon, 
taking  off  his  green  spectacles,  he  wiped  the  glasses  care- 
fully with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  depos'ited  them  in 
his  pocket. 

If  Bon-Bon  had  been  astonished  at  the  incident  of 
the  book,  his  amazement  was  now  much  increased  by 
the  spectacle  which  here  presented  itself  to  view.  In 
raising  his  eyes,  with  a  strong  feeling  of  curiosity  to 
ascertain  the  colour  of  his  guest's,  he  found  them  by  no 
means  black,  as  he  had  anticipated — nor  grey,  as  might 
have  been  imagined — nor  yet  hazel  nor  blue — nor  in- 
deed yellow  nor  red — nor  purple — nor  white — nor 
green — nor  any  other  colour  in  the  heavens  above,  or  in 
the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  waters  under  the  earth.  In 
short,  Pierre  Bon-Bon  not  only  saw  plainly  that  his 
Majesty  had  no  eyes  whatsoever,  but  could  discover  no 
indications  of  their  having  existed  at  any  previous 
period — for  the  space  where  eyes  should  naturally  have 
been  was,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  simply  a  dead  level 
of  flesh. 

It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  the  metaphysician  to  for- 
bear making  some  inquiry  into  the  sources  of  so  strange 
a  phenomenon;  and  the  reply  of  his  Majesty  was  at 
once  prompt,  dignified,  and  satisfactory. 

"Eyes!  my  dear  Bon-Bon — eyes!  did  you  say? — oh! 
— ah! — I  perceive!  The  ridiculous  prints,  eh,  which 
are  in  circulation,  have  given  you  a  false  idea  of  my 

[125] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


personal  appearance.  Eyes! — true.  Eyes,  Pierre 
Bon-Bon,  are  very  well  in  their  proper  place — that,  you 
would  say,  is  the  head? — right — the  head  of  a  worm. 
To  you,  likewise,  these  optics  are  indispensable — yet  I 
will  convince  you  that  my  vision  is  more  penetrating 
than  your  own.  There  is  a  cat  I  see  in  the  corner — a 
pretty  cat — look  at  her — observe  her  well.  Now,  Bon- 
Bon,  do  you  behold  the  thoughts — the  thoughts,  I  say — 
the  ideas — the  reflections — ^which  are  being  engendered 
in  her  pericranium?  There  it  is  now — you  do  not! 
She  is  thinking  we  admire  the  length  of  her  tail  and  the 
profundity  of  her  mind.  She  has  just  concluded  that  I 
am  the  most  distinguished  of  ecclesiastics,  and  that  you 
are  the  most  superficial  of  metaphysicians.  Thus  you 
see  I  am  not  altogether  blind;  but  to  one  of  my  profes- 
sion, the  eyes  you  speak  of  would  be  merely  an  incum- 
brance, liable  at  any  time  to  be  put  out  by  a  toasting- 
iron  or  a  pitchfork.  To  you,  I  allow,  these  optical  af- 
fairs are  indispensable.  Endeavour,  Bon-Bon,  to  use 
them  well;  my  vision  is  the  soul." 

Hereupon  the  guest  helped  himself  to  the  wine  upon 
the  table,  and  pouring  out  a  bumper  for  Bon-Bon,  re- 
quested him  to  drink  it  without  scruple,  and  make  him- 
self perfectly  at  home. 

"A  clever  book  that  of  yours,  Pierre,"  resumed  his 
Majesty,  tapping  our  friend  knowingly  upon  the  shoul- 
der, as  the  latter  put  down  his  glass  after  a  thorough 
compliance  with  his  visitor's  injunction.  "A  clever 
book  that  of  yours,  upon  my  honour.  It's  a  work  after 
my  own  heart.  Your  arrangement  of  the  matter,  I 
think,  however,  might  be  improved,  and  many  of  your 

[126] 


BON-BON 


notions  remind  me  of  Aristotle.  That  philosopher  was 
one  of  my  most  intimate  acquaintances.  I  liked  him  as 
much  for  his  terrible  ill  temper,  as  for  his  happy  knack 
at  making  a  blunder.  There  is  only  one  solid  truth  in 
all  that  he  has  written,  and  for  that  I  gave  him  the  hint 
out  of  pure  compassion  for  his  absurdity.  I  suppose, 
Pierre  Bon-Bon,  you  very  well  know  to  what  divine 
moral  truth  I  am  alluding?" 

"Cannot  say  that  I — " 

"Indeed! — ^why  it  was  I  who  told  Aristotle  that,  by 
sneezing,  men  expelled  superfluous  ideas  through  the 
proboscis." 

"Which  is — hiccup! — undoubtedly  the  case,"  said 
the  metaphysician,  while  he  poured  out  for  himself  an- 
other bumper  of  Mousseaux,  and  offering  his  snuff-box  to 
the  fingers  of  his  visitor. 

"There  was  Plato,  too,"  continued  his  Majesty,  mod- 
estly declining  the  snuff-box  and  the  compliment  it  im- 
plied— "there  was  Plato,  too,  for  whom  I,  at  one  time, 
felt  all  the  affection  of  a  friend.  You  knew  Plato,  Bon- 
Bon? — ah,  no,  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons.  He  met  me 
at  Athens,  one  day,  in  the  Parthenon,  and  told  me  he  was 
distressed  for  an  idea.  I  bade  him  write  down  that 
*6  vov<s  ecTTLv  av\6<s.'  He  said  that  he  would  do  so,  and  went 
home,  while  I  stepped  over  to  the  pyramids.  But  my 
conscience  smote  me  for  having  uttered  a  truth,  even  to 
aid  a  friend,  and  hastening  back  to  Athens,  I  arrived  be- 
hind  the  philosopher's  chair  as  he  was  inditing  the 

*avAos.* 

"Giving  the  lambda  a  fillip  with  my  finger,  I  turned  it 
upside  down.     So  the  sentence  now  reads  *»  ^ov^  ^onv 

[127] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


avyos/  and  is,  you  perceive,  the  fundamental  doctrine  in 
his  metaphysics." 

"Were  you  ever  at  Rome?"  asked  the  restaurateur,  as 
he  finished  his  second  bottle  of  Mousseaux,  and  drew 
from  the  closet  a  larger  supply  of  Chambertin. 

"But  once.  Monsieur  Bon-Bon,  but  once.  There  was 
a  time,"  said  the  Devil,  as  if  reciting  some  passage  from 
a  book —  "there  was  a  time  when  occured  an  anarchy  of 
five  years,  during  which  the  republic,  bereft  of  all  its 
officers,  had  no  magistracy  besides  the  tribunes  of  the 
people,  and  these  were  not  legally  vested  with  any  de- 
gree of  executive  power — at  that  time.  Monsieur  Bon- 
Bon — at  that  time  only  I  was  in  Rome,  and  I  have  no 
earthly  acquaintance,  consequently,  with  any  of  its  phi- 
losophy." ^ 

"What  do  you  think  of — ^what  do  you  think  of — ^hic- 
cup ! — Epicurus?" 

"What  do  I  think  of  whom?''  said  the  Devil,  in  aston- 
ishment; "you  surely  do  not  mean  to  find  any  fault  with 
Epicurus!  What  do  I  think  of  Epicurus!  Do  you 
mean  me,  sir? — I  am  Epicurus!  I  am  the  same  phi- 
losopher who  wrote  each  of  the  three  hundred  treatises 
commemorated  by  Diogenes  Laertes." 

"That's  a  lie!"  said  the  metaphysician,  for  the  wine 
had  gotten  a  little  into  his  head. 

"Very  well! — very  well,  sir! — ^very  well,  indeed, 
sir!"  said  his  Majesty,  apparently  much  flattered. 

"That's  a  lie!"  repeated  the  restaurateur,  dogmati- 
cally; "that's  a — ^hiccup! — a  lie!" 

Ills  ecrivaient  sur  la  philosophic   (Cicero,  Lucretius,  Seneca),  mais 
c'etait  la  philosophic  grecque. — Condorcet. 

[128] 


BON-BON 


"Well,  well,  have  it  your  own  way!"  said  the  Devil, 
pacifically,  and  Bon-Bon,  having  beaten  his  Majesty  at 
an  argument,  thought  it  his  duty  to  conclude  a  second 
bottle  of  Chamber  tin. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  resumed  the  visitor — "as  I  was 
observing  a  little  while  ago,  there  are  some  very  outre 
notions  in  that  book  of  yours.  Monsieur  Bon-Bon. 
What,  for  instance,  do  you  mean  by  all  that  humbug 
about  the  soul?     Pray,  sir,  what  is  the  soul?" 

"The — ^hiccup! — soul,"  replied  the  metaphysician, 
referring  to  his  MS.,  "is  undoubtedly — " 

"No,  sir!" 

"Indubitably—" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Indisputably — ^" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Evidently—" 

"No,  sir!" 

"Incontrovertibly — " 

"No,  sir!" 

"Hiccup!—" 

"No,  sir!" 

"And  beyond  all  question,  a — " 

"No,  sir,  the  soul  is  no  such  thing!"  (Here  the  phi- 
losopher, looking  daggers,  took  occasion  to  make  an  end, 
upon  the  spot,  of  his  third  bottle  of  Chambertin.) 

"Then — ^hiccup! — pray,  sir — what — what  is  it?" 

"That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Monsieur  Bon-Bon," 
replied  his  Majesty,  musingly.  "I  have  tasted — that  is 
to  say,  I  have  known  some  very  bad  souls,  and  some  too 
— ^pretty  good  ones."     Here  he  smacked  his  lips,  and, 

[129] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


having  unconsciously  let  fall  his  hand  upon  the  volume 
in  his  pocket,  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing. 

He  continued: 

"There  was  the  soul  of  Cratinus — passable:  Aris- 
tophanes— racy:  Plato — exquisite — not  your  Plato, 
but  Plato  the  comic  poet;  your  Plato  would  have  turned 
the  stomach  of  Cerberus — faugh!  Then  let  me  see! 
there  were  Naevius,  and  Andronicus,  and  Plautus,  and 
Terentius.  Then  there  were  Lucilius,  and  Catullus,  and 
Naso,  and  Quintus  Flaccus, — dear  Quinty!  as  I  called 
him  when  he  sang  a  saeculare  for  my  amusement,  while 
I  toasted  him,  in  pure  good  humour,  on  a  fork.  But 
they  want  flavour,  these  Romans.  One  fat  Greek  is 
worth  a  dozen  of  them,  and  besides  will  keep,  which 
cannot  be  said  of  a  Quirite.  Let  us  taste  your  Sau- 
teme." 

Bon-Bon  had  by  this  time  made  up  his  mind  to  the 
nil  admirari,  and  endeavoured  to  hand  down  the  bottles 
in  question.  He  was,  however,  conscious  of  a  strange 
sound  in  the  room  like  the  wagging  of  a  tail.  Of  this, 
although  extremely  indecent  in  his  Majesty,  the  philos- 
opher took  no  notice: — simply  kicking  the  dog,  and  re- 
questing him  to  be  quiet.     The  visitor  continued: 

"I  found  that  Horace  tasted  very  much  like  Aristotle; 
— you  know  I  am  fond  of  variety.  Terentius  I  could 
not  have  told  from  Menander.  Naso,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, was  Nicander  in  disguise.  Virgilius  had  a  strong 
twang  of  Theocritus.  Martial  put  me  much  in  mind  of 
Archilochus — and  Titus  Livius  was  positively  Polybius 
and  none  other." 

[130] 


BON-BON 


"Hiccup!"  here  replied  Bon-Bon,  and  his  Majesty 
proceeded: 

"But  if  I  have  a  penchant,  Monsieur  Bon-Bon — if  I 
have  a  penchant,  it  is  for  a  philosopher.  Yet,  let  me 
tell  you,  sir,  it  is  not  every  dev — I  mean  it  is  not  every 
gentleman  who  knows  how  to  choose  a  philosopher. 
Long  ones  are  not  good;  and  the  best,  if  not  carefully 
shelled,  are  apt  to  be  a  little  rancid  on  account  of  the 
gall." 

"Shelled!  !" 

"I  mean  taken  out  of  the  carcass." 

"What  do  you  think  of  a — ^hiccup! — physician?" 

^^ Don't  mention  them! — ugh!  ugh!"  (Here  his  Ma- 
jesty retched  violently.)  "I  never  tasted  but  one — that 
rascal  Hippocrates! — smelt  of  asafoetida — ugh!  ugh! 
ugh! — caught  a  wretched  cold  washing  him  in  the  Styx 
— and  after  all  he  gave  me  the  cholera-morbus." 
^  "The — ^hiccup! — wretch!"  ejaculated  Bon-Bon,  "the 
— hiccup! — abortion  of  a  pill-box!" — and  the  philoso- 
pher dropped  a  tear. 

"After  all,"  continued  the  visitor,  "after  all,  if  a  dev 
— if  a  gentleman  wishes  to  live,  he  must  have  more  tal- 
ents than  one  or  two;  and  with  us  a  fat  face  is  an  evi- 
dence of  diplomacy." 

"How  so?" 

"Why  we  are  sometimes  exceedingly  pushed  for  pro- 
visions. You  must  know  that,  in  a  climate  so  sultry  as 
mine,  it  is  frequently  impossible  to  keep  a  spirit  alive 
for  more  than  two  or  three  hours;  and  after  death,  un- 
less pickled  immediately  (and  a  pickled  spirit  is  not 

[131] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


good),  they  will — smell — you  understand,  eh?  Putre- 
faction is  always  to  be  apprehended  when  the  souls  are 
consigned  to  us  in  the  usual  way." 

"Hiccup! — hiccup! — good  God!   how  do  you  man- 

age?" 

Here  the  iron  lamp  commenced  swinging  with  re- 
doubled violence,  and  the  Devil  half  started  from  his 
seat; — however,  with  a  slight  sigh,  he  recovered  his  com- 
posure, merely  saying  to  our  hero  in  a  low  tone:  "I 
tell  you  what,  Pierre  Bon-Bon,  we  must  have  no  more 
swearing." 

The  host  swallowed  another  bumper,  by  way  of  denot- 
ing thorough  comprehension  and  acquiescence,  and  the 
visitor  continued: 

"Why,  there  are  several  ways  of  managing.  The 
most  of  us  starve:  some  put  up  with  the  pickle:  for  my 
part  I  purchase  my  spirits  vivente  corpore,  in  which  case 
I  find  they  keep  very  well." 

"But  the  body! — ^hiccup! — the  body!  !" 

"The  body,  the  body — ^well,  what  of  the  body? — oh! 
ah!  I  perceive.  Why,  sir,  the  body  is  not  at  all  af- 
fected by  the  transaction.  I  have  made  innumerable 
purchases  of  the  kind  in  my  day,  and  the  parties  never 
experienced  any  inconvenience.  There  were  Cain  and 
Nimrod,  and  Nero,  and  Caligula,  and  Dionysius,  and 
Pisistratus,  and — and  a  thousand  others,  who  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  have  a  soul  during  the  latter  part 
of  their  lives;  yet,  sir,  these  men  adorned  society.  Why 
isn't  there  A — ,  now,  whom  you  know  as  well  as  I? 
Is  he  not  in  possession  of  all  his  faculties,  mental  and 
corporeal?     Who  writes  a  keener  epigram?     Who  rea- 

[132] 


BON-BON 


sons  more  wittily?  Who — but,  stay!  I  have  his  agree- 
ment in  my  pocket-book." 

Thus  saying,  he  produced  a  red  leather  wallet,  and 
took  from  it  a  number  of  papers.  Upon  some  of  these 
Bon-Bon  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  letters  Machi — Maza — 
Robesp — ^with  the  words  Caligula,  George,  Elizabeth, 
His  Majesty  selected  a  narrow  slip  of  parchment,  and 
from  it  read  aloud  the  following  words: 

"In  consideration  of  certain  mental  endowments 
which  it  is  unnecessary  to  specify,  and  in  further  con- 
sideration of  one  thousand  louis  d'or,  I,  being  aged  one 
year  and  one  month,  do  hereby  make  over  to  the  bearer 
of  this  agreement  all  my  right,  title,  and  appurtenance 
in  the  shadow  called  my  soul.  (Signed)  A  .  .  .  ."  ^ 
(Here  His  Majesty  repeated  a  name  which  I  do  not  feel 
myself  justified  in  indicating  more  unequivocally.) 

"A  clever  fellow  that,"  resumed  he;  "but,  like  you. 
Monsieur  Bon-Bon,  he  was  mistaken  about  the  soul. 
The  soul  a  shadow,  truly!  The  soul  a  shadow!  Ha! 
ha!  ha! — he!  he!  he! — hu!  hu!  hu!  Only  think  of  a 
fricasseed  shadow!" 

''Only  think — hiccup! — of  a  fricasseed  shadow!"  ex- 
claimed our  hero,  whose  faculties  were  becoming  much 
illuminated  by  the  profundity  of  His  Majesty's  discourse. 
"Only  think  of  a — hiccup! — fricasseed  shadow!! 
Now,  damme! — ^hiccup! — humph!  If  /  would  have 
been  such  a — hiccup! — nincompoop!  My  soul,  Mr. — 
humph!" 

''Your  soul.  Monsieur  Bon-Bon?" 

"Yes,  sir — hiccup! — my  soul  is — " 

1  Query. — Arouet? 

[133] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"What,  sir?" 

"A^o  shadow,  damme!" 

"Did  you  mean  to  say — " 

"Yes,  sir,  my  soul  is — hiccup! — humph! — ^yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  not  intend  to  assert — " 

"My  soul  is — ^hiccup! — peculiarly  qualified  for — 
hiccup! — a — " 

"What,  sir?" 

"Stew." 

"Ha!" 

''Souffleer 

"Eh!" 

''Fricassee'' 

"Indeed!" 

''Ragout  and  fricandeau — and  see  here,  my  good 
fellow!  I'll  let  you  have  it — hiccup! — a  bargain." 
Here  the  philosopher  slapped  His  Majesty  upon  the 
back. 

"Couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said  the  latter 
calmly,  at  the  same  time  rising  from  his  seat.  The 
metaphysician  stared. 

"Am  supplied  at  present,"  said  His  Majesty. 

"Hic-cup! — e-h?"  said  the  philosopher. 

"Have  no  funds  on  hand." 

"What?" 

"Besides,  very  unhandsome  in  me — " 

"Sir!" 

"To  take  advantage  of — " 

"Hic-cup!" 

"Your  present  disgusting  and  ungentlemanly  situa- 
tion." 

[134] 


BON-BON 


Here  the  visitor  bowed  and  withdrew — in  what  man- 
ner could  not  precisely  be  ascertained — but  in  a  well- 
concerted  effort  to  discharge  a  bottle  at  "the  villain," 
the  slender  chain  was  severed  that  depended  from  the 
ceiling,  and  the  metaphysician  prostrated  by  the  down- 
fall of  the  lamp. 


[135] 


THE   PRINTER'S   DEVIL 

As  I  was  sitting  in  my  armchair  and  preparing  an 
essay  on  the  Devil  in  literature,  sleep  overpowered  me; 
the  pen  fell  from  my  hands,  and  my  head  reclined  upon 
the  desk.  I  had  been  thinking  so  much  about  the  Devil 
in  my  waking  hours,  that  the  same  idea  pursued  me 
after  I  had  fallen  asleep.  I  heard  a  gentle  rap  at  the 
door,  and  having  bawled  out  as  usual,  "Come  in,"  a  lit- 
tle gentleman  entered,  wrapped  in  a  large  blue  cloth 
cloak,  with  a  slouched  hat,  and  goggles  over  his  eyes. 
After  bowing  and  scraping  with  considerable  ceremony, 
he  took  off  his  hat,  and  threw  his  cloak  over  the  back 
of  a  chair,  when  I  immediately  perceived  that  my  visitor 
was  no  mortal.  His  face  was  hideously  ugly;  the  skin 
appearing  very  much  like  wet  paper,  and  the  forehead 
covered  with  those  cabalistic  signs  whose  wondrous  sig- 
nificance is  best  known  to  those  who  correct  the  press. 
On  the  end  of  his  long  hooked  nose  there  seemed  to  me 
to  be  growing,  like  a  carbuncle,  the  first  letter  of  the  al- 
phabet, glittering  with  ink  and  ready  to  print.  I  ob- 
served, also,  that  each  of  his  fingers  and  toes,  or  rather 
claws,  was  in  the  same  manner  terminated  by  one  of  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet;  and  as  he  slashed  round  his  tail 
to  brush  a  fly  off"  his  nose,  I  noticed  that  the  letter  Z 
formed  the  extremity  of  that  useful  member.  While  I 
was  looking  with  no  small  astonishment  and  some  trepi- 
dation at  my  extraordinary  visitor,  he  took  occasion  to 

[136] 


THE     printer's     DEVIL 


inform  me  that  he  had  taken  liberty  to  call,  as  he  was 
afraid  I  might  forget  him  in  the  treatise  which  I  was 
writing — an  omission  which  he  assured  me  would  cause 
him  no  little  mortification.  "In  me,"  says  he,  "you  be- 
hold the  prince  and  patron  of  printers'  devils.  My 
province  is  to  preside  over  the  hell  of  books;  and  if  you 
will  only  take  the  trouble  to  accompany  me  a  little  way, 
I  will  show  you  some  of  the  wonders  of  that  world." 
As  my  imagination  had  lately  been  much  excited  by 
perusing  Dante's  Inferno,  I  was  delighted  with  an  ad- 
venture which  promised  to  turn  out  something  like  his 
wonderful  journey,  and  I  readily  consented  to  visit  my 
new  friend's  dominions,  and  we  sallied  forth  together. 
As  we  pursued  our  way,  my  conductor  endeavoured  to 
give  me  some  information  respecting  the  world  I  was 
about  to  enter,  in  order  to  prepare  me  for  the  wonders 
I  should  encounter  there.  "You  must  know,"  remarked 
he,  "that  books  have  souls  as  well  as  men;  and  the  mo- 
ment any  work  is  published,  whether  successful  or  not, 
its  soul  appears  in  precisely  the  same  form  in  another 
world;  either  in  this  domain,  which  is  subject  to  me,  or 
in  a  better  region,  over  which  I  have  no  control.  I  have 
power  only  to  exhibit  the  place  of  punishment  for  bad 
books,  periodicals,  pamphlets,  and,  in  short,  publications 
of  every  kind." 

We  now  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  a  cavern,  which  I  did 
not  remember  to  have  ever  noticed  before,  though  I  had 
repeatedly  passed  the  spot  in  my  walks.  It  looked  to 
me  more  like  the  entrance  to  a  coalmine  than  anything 
else,  as  the  sides  were  entirely  black.  Upon  examin- 
ing them  more  closely,  I  found  that  they  were  covered 

[137] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


with  a  black  fluid  which  greatly  resembled  printer's  ink, 
and  which  seemed  to  corrode  and  wear  away  the  rocks 
of  the  cavern  wherever  it  touched  them.  "We  have 
lately  received  a  large  supply  of  political  publications," 
said  my  companion;  "and  hell  is  perfectly  saturated  with 
their  maliciousness.  We  carry  on  a  profitable  trade 
upon  the  earth,  by  retailing  this  ink  to  the  principal  po- 
litical editors.  Unfortunately,  it  is  not  found  to  answer 
very  well  for  literary  publications,  though  they  have 
tried  it  with  considerable  success  in  printing  the  London 
Quarterly  and  several  of  the  other  important  reviews." 
The  cavern  widened  as  we  advanced,  and  we  came 
presently  into  a  vast  open  plain,  which  was  bounded  on 
one  side  by  a  wall  so  high  that  it  seemed  to  reach  the 
very  heavens.  As  we  approached  the  wall  I  observed 
a  vast  gateway  before  us,  closed  up  by  folding  doors. 
The  gates  opened  at  our  approach,  and  we  entered.  I 
found  myself  in  a  warm  sandy  valley,  bounded  on  one 
side  by  a  steep  range  of  mountains.  A  feeble  light 
shone  upon  it,  much  like  that  of  a  sick  chamber,  and  the 
air  seemed  confined  and  stifling  like  that  of  the  abode 
of  illness.  My  ears  were  assailed  by  a  confused  whin- 
ing noise,  as  if  all  the  litters  of  new-born  puppies,  kit- 
tens with  their  eyes  unopened,  and  babes  just  come  to 
light,  in  the  whole  world,  were  brought  into  one  spot, 
and  were  whelping,  mewing,  and  squalling  at  once.  I 
turned  in  mute  wonder  to  my  guide  for  explanation; 
and  he  informed  me  that  I  now  beheld  the  destined  abode 
of  all  still-bom  and  abortive  publications;  and  the  in- 
fantine noises  which  I  heard  were  only  their  feeble  wail- 
ing for  the  miseries  they  had  endured  in  being  brought 

[138] 


THE     printer's     DEVIL 


into  the  world.  I  now  saw  what  the  feebleness  of  the 
light  had  prevented  my  observing  before,  that  the  soil 
was  absolutely  covered  with  books  of  every  size  and 
shape,  from  the  little  diamond  almanac  up  to  the  re- 
spectable quarto.  I  saw  folios  there.  These  books 
were  crawling  about  and  tumbling  over  each  other  like 
blind  whelps,  uttering,  at  the  same  time,  the  most 
mournful  cries.  I  observed  one,  however,  which  re- 
mained quite  still,  occasionally  groaning  a  little,  and  ap- 
peared like  an  overgrown  toad  oppressed  with  its  own 
heaviness.  I  drew  near,  and  read  upon  the  back, 
*' Resignation,  a  Novel."  The  cover  flew  open,  and  the 
title-page  immediately  began  to  address  me.  I  walked 
off",  however,  as  fast  as  possible,  only  distinguishing  a 
few  words  about  "the  injustice  and  severity  of  critics;" 
"bad  taste  of  the  public;"  "very  well  considering;" 
"first  effort;"  "feminine  mind,"  &c.  &c.  I  presently 
discovered  a  very  important-looking  little  book,  stalk- 
ing about  among  the  rest  in  a  great  passion,  kicking  the 
others  out  of  the  way,  and  swearing  like  a  trooper;  till 
at  length,  apparently  exhausted  with  its  efforts,  it  sunk 
down  to  rise  no  more.  "Ah  ha!"  exclaimed  my  little 
diabolical  friend,  "here  is  a  new  comer;  let's  see  who  he 
is;"  and  coming  up,  he  turned  it  over  with  his  foot  so 
that  we  could  see  the  back  of  it,  upon  which  was  printed 
''The  Monikins,  by  the  Author  of,  &c.  &c."  I  noticed 
that  the  book  had  several  marks  across  it,  as  if  some  one 
had  been  flogging  the  unfortunate  work.  "It  is  only 
the  marks  of  the  scourge,"  said  my  companion,  "which 
the  critics  have  used  rather  more  severely,  I  think,  than 
was  necessary."     I  expected,  after  all  the  passion  I 

[139] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


had  seen,  and  the  great  importance  of  feeling,  arro- 
gance, and  vanity  the  little  work  had  manifested,  that 
it  would  have  some  pert  remarks  to  make  to  us;  but 
it  was  so  much'  exhausted  that  it  could  not  say  a  word. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  valley  was  a  small  pond  of  a  milky 
hue,  from  which  there  issued  a  perfume  very  much  like 
the  smell  of  bread  and  butter.  An  immense  number  of 
thin,  prettily  bound  manuscript  books  were  soaking  in 
this  pond  of  milk,  all  of  which,  I  was  informed,  were 
Young  Ladies'  Albums,  which  it  was  necessary  to 
souse  in  the  slough,  to  prevent  them  from  stealing  pas- 
sages from  the  various  works  about  them.  As  soon  as 
I  heard  what  they  were,  I  ran  away  with  all  my  speed, 
having  a  mortal  dread  of  these  books. 

We  had  now  traversed  the  valley,  and,  approaching 
the  barrier  of  mountains,  we  found  a  passage  cut 
through,  which  greatly  resembled  the  Pausilipo,  near 
Naples;  it  was  closed  on  the  side  towards  the  valley, 
only  with  a  curtain  of  white  paper,  upon  which  were 
printed  the  names  of  the  principal  reviews,  which  my 
conductor  assured  me  were  enough  to  prevent  any  of 
the  unhappy  works  we  had  seen  from  coming  near  the 
passage. 

As  we  advanced  through  the  mountains,  occasional 
gleams  of  light  appeared  before  us,  and  immediately 
vanished,  leaving  us  in  darkness.  My  guide,  however, 
seemed  to  be  well  acquainted  with  the  way,  and  we  went 
on  fearlessly  till  we  emerged  into  an  open  field,  lighted 
up  by  constant  flashes  of  lightning,  which  glared  from 
every  side;  the  air  was  hot,  and  strongly  impregnated 
with  sulphur.     "Each  department  of  my  dominions," 

[140] 


THE     printer's     DEVIL 


said  the  Devil,  "receives  its  light  from  the  works  which 
are  sent  there.  You  are  now  surrounded  by  the  glitter- 
ing but  evanescent  coruscations  of  the  more  recent 
novels.  This  department  of  hell  was  never  very  well 
supplied  till  quite  lately,  though  Fielding,  Smollett, 
Maturin,  and  Godwin,  did  what  they  could  for  us.  Our 
greatest  benefactors  have  been  Disraeli,  Bulwer,  and 
Victor  Hugo;  and  this  glare  of  light,  so  painful  to  our 
eyes,  proceeds  chiefly  from  their  books."  There  was  a 
tremendous  noise  like  the  rioting  of  an  army  of  drunken 
men,  with  horrible  cries  and  imprecations,  and  fiend- 
like laughing,  which  made  my  blood  curdle;  and  such 
a  scrambling  and  fighting  among  the  books,  as  I  never 
saw  before.  I  could  not  imagine  at  first  what  could  be 
the  cause  of  this,  till  I  discovered  at  last  a  golden  hill 
rising  up  like  a  cone  in  the  midst  of  the  plane,  with 
just  room  enough  for  one  book  on  the  summit;  and  I 
found  that  the  novels  were  fighting  like  so  many  devils 
for  the  occupation  of  this  place.  One  work,  however, 
had  gained  possession  of  it,  and  seemed  to  maintain  its 
hold  with  a  strength  and  resolution  which  bade  defiance 
to  the  rest.  I  could  not  at  first  make  out  the  name  of 
this  book,  which  seemed  to  stand  upon  its  golden  throne 
like  the  Prince  of  Hell;  but  presently  the  whole  arch  of 
the  heavens  glared  with  new  brilliancy,  and  the  magic 
name  of  Vivian  Grey  flashed  from  the  book  in  letters 
of  scorching  light.  I  was  much  afraid,  however,  that 
Vivian  would  not  long  retain  his  post;  for  I  saw  Pelham 
and  Peregrine  Pickle,  and  the  terrible  Melmoth  with 
his  glaring  eyes,  coming  together  to  the  assault,  when 
a  whirlwind  seized  them  all  four  and  carried  them 

[141] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


away  to  a  vast  distance,  leaving  the  elevation  vacant  for 
some  other  competitor.  "There  is  no  peace  to  the 
wicked,  you  see,"  said  my  Asmodeus.  "These  books 
are  longing  for  repose,  and  they  can  get  none  on  ac- 
count of  the  insatiable  vanity  of  their  authors,  whose 
desire  for  distinction  made  them  careless  of  the  senti- 
ments they  expressed  and  the  principles  they  advocated. 
The  great  characteristic  of  works  of  this  stamp  is  action, 
intense,  painful  action.  They  have  none  of  that  beauti- 
ful serenity  which  shines  in  Scott  and  Edgeworth;  and 
they  are  condemned  to  illustrate,  by  an  eternity  of  con- 
test here,  the  restless  spirit  with  which  they  are  in- 
spired." 

While  I  was  looking  on  with  fearful  interest  in  the 
mad  combat  before  me,  the  horizon  seemed  to  be  dark- 
ened, and  a  vast  cloud  rose  up  in  the  image  of  a  gi- 
gantic eagle,  whose  wings  stretched  from  the  east  to 
the  west  till  he  covered  the  firmament.  In  his  talons 
he  carried  an  open  book,  at  the  sight  of  which  the  battle 
around  me  was  calmed;  the  lightnings  ceased  to  flash, 
and  there  was  an  awful  stillness.  Then  suddenly  there 
glared  from  the  book  a  sheet  of  fire,  which  rose  in 
columns  a  thousand  feet  high,  and  filled  the  empyrean 
with  intense  light;  the  pillars  of  flame  curling  and 
wreathing  themselves  into  monstrous  letters,  till  they 
were  fixed  in  one  terrific  glare,  and  I  read — "BYRON." 
Even  my  companion  quailed  before  the  awful  light,  and 
I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  When  I  withdrew 
them,  the  cloud  and  the  book  had  vanished,  and  the 
contest  was  begun  again — "You  have  seen  the  Prince  of 
this  division  of  hell,"  said  my  guide. 

[142] 


THE     printer's     DEVIL 


We  now  began  rapidly  to  descend  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth;   and,  after  sinking  some  thousand  feet,   I 
found  myself  on  terra  firma  again,  and  walking  a  little 
way,  we  came  to  a  gate  of  massive  ice,  over  which  was 
written  in  vast  letters — "My  heritage  is  despair."     We 
passed  through,  and  immediately  found  ourselves  in  a 
vast  basin  of  lead,  which  seemed  to  meet  the  horizon  on 
every  side.     A  bright  light  shone  over  the  whole  re- 
gion; but  it  was  not  like  the  genial  light  of  the  sun.     It 
chilled  me  through ;  and  every  ray  that  fell  upon  me 
seemed  like  the  touch  of  ice.     The  deepest  silence  pre- 
vailed; and  though  the  valley  was  covered  with  books, 
not  one  moved  or  uttered  a  sound.     I  drew  near  to  one, 
and  I  shivered  with  intense  cold  as  I  read  upon  it — "Vol- 
taire."    "Behold,"  said  the  demon,  "the  hell  of  infidel 
books;  the  light  which  emanates  from  them  is  the  light 
of  reason,  and  they  are  doomed  to  everlasting  torpor." 
I  found  it  too  cold  to  pursue  my  investigations  any  far- 
ther in  this  region,  and  I  gladly  passed  on  from  the 
leaden  gulf  of  Infidelity. 

I  had  no  sooner  passed  the  barrier  which  separated 
this  department  from  the  next,  than  I  heard  a  confused 
sound  like  the  quacking  of  myriads  of  ducks  and  geese, 
and  a  great  flapping  of  wings;  of  which  I  soon  saw  the 
cause.  "You  are  in  the  hell  of  newspapers,"  said  my 
guide.  And  sure  enough,  when  I  looked  up  I  saw 
thousands  of  newspapers  flying  about  witli  their  great 
wooden  back-bones,  and  the  padlock  dangling  like  a 
bobtail  at  the  end,  flapping  their  wings  and  hawking  at 
each  other  like  mad.  After  circling  about  in  the  air 
for  a  little  while,  and  bitinj^  and  tearing  each  other  as 

[143] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


much  as  they  could,  they  plumped  down,  head  first,  into 
a  deep  black-looking  pool,  and  were  seen  no  more. 
"We  place  these  newspapers  deeper  in  hell  than  the 
Infidel  publications,"  said  the  Devil;  "because  they  are 
so  much  more  extensively  read,  and  thereby  do  much 
greater  mischief.  It  is  a  kind  of  pest  of  which  there 
is  no  end;  and  we  are  obliged  to  allot  the  largest  por- 
tion of  our  dominions  to  containing  them." 

We  now  came  to  an  immense  pile  of  a  leaden  hue, 
which  I  found  at  last  to  consist  of  old  worn-out  type, 
which  was  heaped  up  to  form  the  wall  of  the  next  di- 
vision. A  monstrous  u,  turned  bottom  upwards  (in  this 
way  fl  )  formed  the  arch  of  a  gateway  through  which 
we  passed ;  and  then  traversed  a  draw-bridge,  which  was 
thrown  across  a  river  of  ink,  upon  whose  banks  millions 
of  horrible  little  demons  were  sporting.  I  presently 
saw  that  they  were  employed  in  throwing  into  the  black 
stream  a  quantity  of  books  which  were  heaped  up  on 
the  shore.  As  I  looked  down  into  the  stream,  I  saw 
that  they  were  immediately  devoured  by  the  most  hideous 
and  disgusting  monsters  which  were  floundering  about 
there.  I  looked  at  one  book,  which  had  crawled  out 
after  being  thrown  into  the  river;  it  was  dripping  with 
filth,  but  I  distinguished  on  the  back  the  words — Don 
Juan.  It  had  hardly  climbed  up  the  bank,  however, 
when  one  of  the  demons  gave  it  a  kick,  and  sent  it  back 
into  the  stream,  where  it  was  immediately  swallowed. 
On  the  back  of  some  of  the  books  which  the  little  imps 
were  tossing  in,  I  saw^  the  name  of — Rochester,  which 
showed  me  the  character  of  those  which  were  sent  into 
this  division  of  the  infernal  regions. 

[144] 


THE     printer's     DEVIL 


Beyond  this  region  rose  up  a  vast  chain  of  mountains, 
which  we  were  obliged  to  clamber  over.  After  toiling 
for  a  long  time,  we  reached  the  summit,  and  I  looked 
down  upon  an  immense  labyrinth  built  upon  the  plain 
below,  in  which  I  saw  a  great  number  of  large  folios, 
stalking  about  in  solemn  pomp,  each  followed  by  a 
number  of  small  volumes  and  pamphlets,  like  so  many 
pages  or  footmen  watching  the  beck  of  their  master. 
"You  behold  here,"  said  the  demon,  "all  the  false  works 
upon  theology  which  have  been  written  since  the  begin^ 
ning  of  the  Christian  era.  They  are  condemned  to  wan- 
der about  to  all  eternity  in  the  hopeless  maze  of  this 
labyrinth,  each  folio  drawing  after  it  all  the  minor 
works  to  which  it  gave  origin."  A  faint  light  shone 
from  these  ponderous  tomes;  but  it  was  like  the  shin- 
ing of  a  lamp  in  a  thick  mist,  shorn  of  its  rays,  and 
illuminating  nothing  around  it.  And  if  my  companion 
had  not  held  a  torch  before  me,  I  should  not  have  dis- 
cerned the  outlines  of  this  department  of  the  Infernal 
world.  As  my  eye  became  somewhat  accustomed  to  the 
feeble  light,  I  discovered  beyond  the  labyrinth  a  thick 
mist,  which  appeared  to  rise  from  some  river  or  lake. 
"That,"  said  my  companion,  "is  the  distinct  abode  of 
German  Metaphysical  works,  and  other  treatises  of  a 
similar  unintelligible  character.  They  are  all  obliged 
to  pass  through  a  press;  and  if  there  is  any  sense  in  them, 
it  is  thus  separated  from  the  mass  of  nonsense  in  which 
it  is  imbedded,  and  is  allowed  to  escape  to  a  belter 
world.  Very  few  of  the  works,  however,  are  found  to 
be  materially  diminished  by  passing  through  the 
press."     We  had  now  crossed  the  plain,  and  stood  near 

[145] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


the  impenetrable  fog,  which  rose  up  like  a  wall  before 
us.  In  front  of  it  was  the  press  managed  by  several 
ugly  little  demons,  and  surrounded  by  an  immense  num- 
ber of  volumes  of  every  size  and  shape,  waiting  for  the 
process  which  all  were  obliged  to  undergo.  As  I  was 
watching  their  operations,  I  saw  two  very  respectable 
German  folios,  with  enormous  clasps,  extended  like 
arms,  carrying  between  them  a  little  volume,  which  they 
were  fondling  like  a  pet  child  with  marks  of  doting 
affection.  These  folios  proved  to  be  two  of  the  most 
abstruse,  learned,  and  incomprehensible  of  the  meta- 
physical productions  of  Germany;  and  the  bantling 
which  they  seemed  to  embrace  with  so  much  affection, 
was  registered  on  the  back — '^Records  of  a  School!'  I 
did  not  find  that  a  single  ray  of  intelligence  had  been  ex- 
tracted from  either  of  the  two  after  being  subjected  to 
the  press.  As  soon  as  the  volumes  had  passed  through 
the  operation  of  yielding  up  all  the  little  sense  they  con- 
tained, they  plunged  into  the  intense  fog,  and  disap- 
peared for  ever. 

We  next  approached  the  verge  of  a  gulf,  which  ap- 
peared to  be  bottomless;  and  there  was  dreadful  noise, 
like  the  war  of  the  elements,  and  forked  flames  shoot- 
ing up  from  the  abyss,  which  reminded  me  of  the  crater 
of  Vesuvius.  "You  have  now  reached  the  ancient  lim- 
its of  hell,"  said  the  demon,  "and  you  behold  beneath 
your  feet  the  original  chaos  on  which  my  domains  are 
founded.  But  within  a  few  years  we  have  been  obliged 
to  build  a  yet  deeper  division  beyond  the  gulf,  to  contain 
a  class  of  books  that  were  unknown  in  former  times." 
"Pray,  what  class  can  be  found,"  I  asked,  "worse  than 

[146] 


THE     PRINTER     S     DEVIL 


those  which  I  have  already  seen,  and  for  which  it  ap- 
pears hell  was  not  bad  enough?"  "They  are  American 
re-prints  of  English  publications,"  replied  he,  "and 
they  are  generally  works  of  such  a  despicable  character, 
that  they  would  have  found  their  way  here  without  be- 
ing republished;  but  even  where  the  original  work  was 
good,  it  is  so  degenerated  by  the  form  under  which  it 
re-appears  in  America,  that  its  merit  is  entirely  lost,  and 
it  is  only  fit  for  the  seventh  and  lowest  division  of  hell." 

I  now  perceived  a  bridge  spanning  over  the  gulf, 
with  an  arch  that  seemed  as  lofty  as  the  firmament.  We 
hastily  passed  over,  and  found  that  the  farthest  extrem- 
ity of  the  bridge  was  closed  by  a  gate,  over  which  was 
written  three  words.  "They  are  the  names  of  the  three 
furies  who  reign  over  this  division,"  said  my  guide.  I 
of  course  did  not  contradict  him;  but  the  words  looked 
very  much  like  some  I  had  seen  before;  and  the  more 
I  examined  them,  the  more  diffcult  was  it  to  convince 
myself  that  the  inscription  was  not  the  same  thing  as 
the  sign  over  a  certain  publishing  house  in  Philadelphia. 

"These,"  said  the  Devil,  "are  called  the  three  furies 
of  the  hell  of  books ;  not  from  the  mischief  they  do  there 
to  the  works  about  them,  but  for  the  unspeakable  wrong 
they  did  to  the  same  works  upon  the  earth,  by  re-print- 
ing them  in  their  hideous  brown  paper  editions."  As 
soon  as  they  beheld  me,  they  rushed  towards  me  with 
such  piteous  accents  and  heart-moving  entreaties,  that  I 
would  intercede  to  save  them  from  their  torment,  that  I 
was  moved  with  the  deepest  compassion,  and  began  to 
ask  my  conductor  if  there  were  no  relief  for  them.  But 
he  hurried  me  away,  assuring  me  that  they  only  wanted 

[147] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


to  sell  me  some  of  their  infernal  editions,  and  the  idea 
of  owning  any  such  property  was  so  dreadful  that  it 
woke  me  up  directly. 


[148] 


THE   DEVIL'S   MOTHER-IN-LAW 
BY    FERNAN    CABALLERO 

In  a  town,  named  Villagaiianes,  there  was  once  an  old 
widow  uglier  than  the  sergeant  of  Utrera,  who  was  con- 
sidered as  ugly  as  ugly  could  be;  drier  than  hay;  older 
than  foot- walking,  and  more  yellow  than  the  jaundice. 
Moreover,  she  had  so  crossgrained  a  disposition  that  Job 
himself  could  not  have  tolerated  her.  She  had  been 
nicknamed  "Mother  Holof ernes,"  and  she  had  only  to 
put  her  head  out  of  doors  to  put  all  the  lads  to  flight. 
Mother  Holof  ernes  was  as  clean  as  a  new  pin,  and  as  in- 
dustrious as  an  ant,  and  in  these  respects  suffered  no  little 
vexation  on  account  of  her  daughter  Panfila,  who  was,  on 
the  contrary,  so  lazy,  and  such  an  admirer  of  the  Quiet- 
ists,  that  an  earthquake  would  not  move  her.  So  it 
came  to  pass  that  Mother  Holofemes  began  quarrelling 
with  her  daughter  almost  from  the  day  that  the  girl  was 
born. 

"You  are,"  she  said,  "as  flaccid  as  Dutch  tobacco,  and 
it  would  take  a  couple  of  oxen  to  draw  you  out  of  your 
room.  You  fly  work  as  you  would  the  pest,  and  nothing 
pleases  you  but  the  window,  you  shameless  girl.  You 
are  more  amorous  than  Cupid  himself,  but,  if  I  have  any 
power,  you  shall  live  as  close  as  a  nun." 

iFrom  Spanish  Fairy  Tales.  By  Feman  Caballero.  Translated  by 
J.  H.  Ingram.  (Philadelphia,  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.,  1881.  By  permis- 
sion of  the  Publishers.) 

[149] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


On  hearing  all  this,  Panfila  got  up,  yawned,  stretched 
herself,  and  turning  her  back  on  her  mother,  went  to  the 
street  door.  Mother  Holof ernes,  without  paying  atten- 
tion to  this,  began  to  sweep  with  most  tremendous  en- 
ergy, accompanying  the  noise  of  the  broom  with  a  mon- 
ologue of  this  tenor: — 

"In  my  time  girls  had  to  work  like  men." 

The  broom  gave  the  accompaniment  of  shis,  shis,  shis. 

"And  lived  as  secluded  as  nuns." 

And  the  broom  went  shis,  shis,  shis, 

"Now  they  are  a  pack  of  fools." — Shis,  shis, 

"Of  idlers." — Shis,  shis, 

"And  think  of  nothing  but  husbands. — Shis,  shis. 

"And  are  a  lot  of  good-for-nothings." 

The  broom  following  with  its  chorus. 

By  this  time  she  had  nearly  reached  the  street  door, 
when  she  saw  her  daughter  making  signs  to  a  youth; 
and  the  handle  of  the  broom,  as  the  handiest  implement, 
descended  upon  the  shoulders  of  Panfila,  and  effected 
the  miracle  of  making  her  run.  Next,  Mother  Holofer- 
nes,  grasping  the  broom,  made  for  the  door;  but  scarcely 
had  the  shadow  of  her  head  appeared,  than  it  produced 
the  customary  effect,  and  the  aspirant  disappeared  so 
swiftly  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  have  had  wings  on 
his  feet. 

"Drat  that  fellow!"  shouted  the  mother;  "I  should 
like  to  break  all  the  bones  in  his  body." 

"What  for?     Why  should  I  not  think  of  getting  mar- 


ried?" 


"What  are  you  saying?     You  get  married,  you  fool! 
not  while  I  live!" 

[150] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

"Why  were  you  married,  madam?  and  my  grand- 
mother? and  my  great  grandmother?" 

"Nicely  I  have  been  repaid  for  it,  by  you,  you  sauce- 
box! And  understand  me,  that  if  I  chose  to  get  mar- 
ried, and  your  grandmother  also,  and  your  great  grand- 
mother also,  I  do  not  intend  that  you  shall  marry;  nor 
my  granddaughter,  nor  my  great  granddaughter!  Do 
you  hear  me?" 

In  these  gentle  disputes  the  mother  and  daughter 
passed  their  lives,  without  any  other  result  than  that  the 
mother  grumbled  more  and  more  every>day,  and  the 
daughter  became  daily  more  and  more  desirous  of  get- 
ting a  husband. 

Upon  one  occasion,  when  Mother  Holofernes  was 
doing  the  washing,  and  as  the  lye  was  on  the  point  of 
boiling,  she  had  to  call  her  daughter  to  help  her  lift  the 
caldron,  in  order  to  pour  its  contents  on  to  the  tub  of 
clothes.  The  girl  heard  her  with  one  ear,  but  with  the 
other  was  listening  to  a  well-known  voice  which  sang 
in  the  street: — 

"I  would  like  to  love  thee, 
Did  thy  mother  let  me  woo! 
May  the  demon  meddle 
In  all  she  tries  to  do ! " 

The  sound  outside  being  more  attractive  for  Panfila 
than  the  caldron  within,  she  did  not  hasten  to  her 
mother,  but  went  to  the  window.  Mother  Holofernes, 
meanwhile,  seeing  that  her  daughter  did  not  come,  and 
that  time  was  passing,  attempted  to  lift  the  caldron  by 
herself,  in  order  to  pour  the  water  upon  the  linen;  and 

[151] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


as  the  good  woman  was  small,  and  not  very  strong,  it 
turned  over,  and  burnt  her  foot.  On  hearing  the  hor- 
rible groans  Mother  Holofemes  made,  her  daughter 
went  to  her. 

"Wretch,  wretch!"  cried  the  enraged  Mother  Holo- 
femes to  her  daughter,  "may  you  love  Barabbas!  And 
as  for  marrying — may  Heaven  grant  you  may  marry  the 
Evil  One  himself!" 

Sometime  after  this  accident  an  aspirant  presented 
himself:  he  was  a  little  man,  young,  fair,  red-haired, 
well-mannered,  and  had  well-furnished  pockets.  He 
had  not  a  single  fault,  and  Mother  Holofemes  was  not 
able  to  find  any  in  all  her  arsenal  of  negatives.  As  for 
Panfila,  it  wanted  little  to  send  her  out  of  her  senses  with 
delight.  So  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  were 
made,  with  the  usual  grumbling  accompaniment  on  the 
part  of  the  bridegroom's  future  mother-in-law.  Every- 
thing went  on  smoothly  straightforward,  and  without  a 
break — like  a  railroad — ^when,  without  knowing  why, 
the  popular  voice — a  voice  which  is  as  the  personifica- 
tion of  conscience, — began  to  rise  in  a  murmur  against 
the  stranger,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  affable,  hu- 
mane, and  liberal;  that  he  spoke  well  and  sang  better; 
and  freely  took  the  black  and  horny  hands  of  the  la- 
bourers between  his  own  white  and  beringed  fingers. 
They  began  to  feel  neither  honoured  nor  overpowered  by 
so  much  courtesy;  his  reasoning  was  always  so  coarse, 
although  forcible  and  logical. 

"By  my  faith!"  said  Uncle  Bias;  "why  does  this  ill- 
faced  gentleman  call  me  Mr.  Bias,  as  if  that  would 
make  me  any  better?     What  does  it  look  like  to  you?" 

[152] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

"Well,  as  for  me,"  said  Uncle  Gil,  "did  he  not  come 
to  shake  hands  with  me  as  if  we  had  some  plot  between 
us?  Did  he  not  call  me  citizen?  I,  who  have  never 
been  out  of  the  village,  and  never  want  to  go." 

As  for  Mother  Holofernes,  the  more  she  saw  of  her 
future  son-in-law,  the  less  regard  she  had  for  him.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  between  that  innocent  red  hair  and 
the  cranium  were  located  certain  protuberances  of  a 
very  curious  kind;  and  she  remembered  with  emotion 
that  malediction  she  had  uttered  against  her  daughter 
on  that  ever  memorable  day  on  which  her  foot  was  in- 
jured and  her  washing  spoilt. 

At  last,  the  wedding  day  arrived.  Mother  Holofer- 
nes had  made  pastry  and  reflections — ^the  former  sweet, 
the  latter  bitter;  a  great  olla  podrida  for  the  food,  and  a 
dangerous  project  for  supper;  she  had  prepared  a  bar- 
rel of  wine  that  was  generous,  and  a  line  of  conduct  that 
was  not.  When  the  bridal  pair  were  about  to  retire  to 
the  nuptial  chamber.  Mother  Holofernes  called  her 
daughter  aside,  and  said:  "When  you  are  in  your 
room,  be  careful  to  close  the  door  and  windows ;  shut  all 
the  shutters,  and  do  not  leave  a  single  crevice  open  but 
the  keyhole  of  the  door.  Take  with  you  this  branch 
of  consecrated  olive,  and  beat  your  husband  with  it  as  I 
advise  you ;  this  ceremony  is  customary  at  all  marriages, 
and  signifies  that  the  woman  is  going  to  be  master,  and 
is  followed  in  order  to  sanction  and  establish  the  rule." 

Panfila,  for  the  first  time  obedient  to  her  mother,  did 
everything  that  she  had  prescribed. 

No  sooner  did  the  bridegroom  espy  the  branch  of 
consecrated  olive  in  the  hands  of  his  wife,  than  he  at- 

[153] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


tempted  to  make  a  precipitous  retreat.  But  when  he 
found  the  doors  and  windows  closed,  and  every  crevice 
stopped  up,  seeing  no  other  means  of  escape  than  by- 
passing through  the  keyhole,  he  crept  into  that;  this 
spruce,  red-and-white,  and  well-spoken  bachelor  being, 
as  Mother  Holofernes  had  suspected,  neither  more  nor 
less  than  the  Evil  One  himself,  who,  availing  himself  of 
the  right  given  him  by  the  anathema  launched  against 
Panfila  by  her  mother,  thought  to  amuse  himself  with 
the  pleasures  of  a  marriage,  and  encumber  himself  with 
a  wife  of  his  own,  whilst  so  many  husbands  were  sup- 
plicating him  to  take  theirs  off  their  hands. 

But  this  gentleman,  despite  his  reputation  for  wisdom, 
had  met  with  a  mother-in-law  who  knew  more  than  he 
did;  and  Mother  Holofernes  was  not  the  only  specimen 
of  that  genus.  Therefore,  scarcely  had  his  lordship  en- 
tered into  the  keyhole,  congratulating  himself  upon  hav- 
ing, as  usual,  discovered  a  method  of  escape,  than  he 
found  himself  in  a  phial,  which  his  foreseeing  mother-in- 
law  had  ready  on  the  other  side  of  the  door;  and  no 
sooner  had  he  got  into  it  than  the  provident  old  dame 
sealed  the  vessel  hermetically.  In  a  most  tender  voice, 
and  with  most  humble  supplications,  and  most  pathetic 
gestures,  her  son-in-law  addressed  her,  and  desired  that 
she  would  grant  him  his  liberty.  But  Mother  Holofer- 
nes was  not  to  be  deceived  by  the  demon,  nor  discon- 
certed by  orations,  nor  imposed  upon  by  honeyed  words; 
she  took  charge  of  the  bottle  and  its  contents,  and  went 
off  to  a  mountain.  The  old  lady  vigorously  climbed  to 
the  summit  of  this  mountain,  and  there,  on  its  most 
elevated  crest,  in  a  rocky  and  secluded  spot,  deposited 

[154] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

the  phial,  taking  leave  of  her  son-in-law  with  a  shake  of 
her  closed  fist  as  a  farewell  greeting. 

And  there  his  lordship  remained  for  ten  years.  What 
years  those  ten  were !  The  world  was  as  quiet  as  a  pool 
of  oil.  Everybody  attended  to  his  own  affairs,  without 
meddling  in  those  of  other  people.  Nobody  coveted  the 
position,  nor  the  wife,  nor  the  property  of  other  persons; 
theft  became  a  word  without  signification;  arms  rusted; 
powder  was  only  consumed  in  fireworks;  prisons  stood 
empty;  finally,  in  this  decade  of  the  golden  age,  only 
one  single  deplorable  event  occurred  .  .  .  the  lawyers 
died  from  hunger  and  quietude. 

Alas!  that  so  happy  a  time  should  have  an  end!  But 
everything  has  an  end  in  this  world,  even  the  discourses 
of  the  most  eloquent  fathers  of  the  country.  At  last 
the  much-to-be-envied  decade  came  to  a  termination  in 
the  following  way. 

A  soldier  named  Briones  had  obtained  permission 
for  a  few  days'  leave  to  enable  him  to  visit  his  native 
place,  which  was  Villagananes.  He  took  the  road  which 
led  to  the  lofty  mountain  upon  whose  summit  the  son-in- 
law  of  Mother  Holofemes  was  cursing  all  mothers-in- 
law,  past,  present,  and  future,  promising  as  soon  as  ever 
he  regained  his  power  to  put  an  end  to  that  class  of 
vipers,  and  by  a  very  simple  method — the  abolition  of 
matrimony.  Much  of  his  time  was  spent  in  composing 
and  reciting  satires  against  the  invention  of  washing 
linen,  the  primal  cause  of  his  present  trouble. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  Briones  did  not 
care  to  go  round  the  mountain  like  the  road,  but  wished 
to  go  straight  ahead,  assuring  the  carriers  who  were  with 

[155] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


him,  that  if  the  mountain  would  not  go  to  the  right- 
about for  him  he  would  pass  over  its  summit,  although  it 
were  so  high  that  he  should  knock  his  head  against  the 
sky. 

When  he  reached  the  summit,  Briones  was  struck 
with  amazement  on  seeing  the  phial  borne  like  a  pimple 
on  the  nose  of  the  mountain.  He  took  it  up,  looked 
through  it,  and  on  perceiving  the  demon,  who  with  years 
of  confinement  and  fasting,  the  sun's  rays,  and  sadness, 
had  dwindled  and  become  as  dried  as  a  prune,  ex- 
claimed in  surprise: — 

"Whatever  vermin  is  this?     What  a  phenomenon!" 

"I  am  an  honourable  and  meritorious  demon,"  said 
the  captive,  humbly  and  courteously.  "The  perversity 
of  a  treacherous  mother-in-law,  into  whose  clutches  I 
fell,  has  held  me  confined  here  during  the  last  ten  years; 
liberate  me,  valiant  warrior,  and  I  will  grant  any  favour 
you  choose  to  solicit." 

"I  should  like  my  demission  from  the  army,"  said 
Briones. 

"You  shall  have  it;  but  uncork,  uncork  quickly,  for  it 
is  a  most  monstrous  anomaly  to  have  thrust  into  a  cor- 
ner, in  these  revolutionary  times,  the  first  revolutionist 
in  the  world." 

Briones  drew  the  cork  out  slightly,  and  a  noxious 
vapour  issued  from  the  bottle  and  ascended  to  his  brain. 
He  sneezed,  and  immediately  replaced  the  stopper  with 
such  a  violent  blow  from  his  hand  that  the  cork  was 
suddenly  depressed,  and  the  prisoner,  squeezed  down, 
gave  a  shout  of  rage  and  pain. 

[156] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

"What  are  you  doing,  vile  earthworm,  more  ma- 
licious and  perfidious  than  my  mother-in-law?"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"There  is  another  condition,"  responded  Briones, 
"that  I  must  add  to  our  treaty;  it  appears  to  me  that  the 
service  I  am  going  to  do  you  is  worth  it." 

"And  what  is  this  condition,  tardy  liberator?"  in- 
quired the  demon. 

"I  should  like  for  thy  ransom  four  dollars  daily  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  my  life.  Think  of  it,  for  upon  that  de- 
pends whether  you  stay  in  or  come  out." 

"Miserable  avaricious  one!"  exclaimed  the  demon, 
"I  have  no  money." 

"Oh!"  replied  Briones,  "what  an  answer  from  a  great 
lord  like  you!  Why,  friend,  that  is  the  Minister  of 
War's  answer!     If  you  can't  pay  me  I  cannot  help  you." 

"Then  you  do  not  believe  me,"  said  the  demon,  "only 
let  me  out,  and  I  will  aid  you  to  obtain  what  you  want 
as  I  have  done  for  many  others.  Let  me  out,  I  say, 
let  me  out." 

"Gently,"  responded  the  soldier,  "there  is  nothing  to 
hurry  about.  Understand  me  that  I  shall  have  to  hold 
you  by  the  tail  until  you  have  performed  your  promise 
to  me;  and  if  not,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you." 

"Insolent,  do  you  not  trust  me  then!"  shouted  the 
demon. 

"No,"  responded  Briones. 

"What  you  desire  is  contrary  to  my  dignity,"  said  the 
captive,  with  all  the  arrogance  that  a  being  of  his  size 
could  express. 

[157] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Now  I  must  go,"  said  Briones. 

"Good-bye,"  said  the  demon,  in  order  not  to  say 
adieu. 

But  seeing  that  Briones  went  off,  the  captive  made 
desperate  jumps  in  the  phial,  shouting  loudly  to  the 
soldier. 

"Return,  return,  dear  friend,"  he  said;  and  muttered 
to  himself,  "I  should  like  a  four-year-old  bull  to  over- 
take you,  you  soulless  fool!"  and  then  he  shouted, 
"Come,  come,  beneficent  fellow,  liberate  me,  and  hold 
me  by  the  tail,  or  by  the  nose,  valiant  warrior;"  and 
then  muttered  to  himself,  "Some  one  will  avenge  me, 
obstinate  soldier;  and  if  the  son-in-law  of  Mother  Holo- 
femes  is  not  able  to  do  it,  there  are  those  who  will  burn 
you  both,  face  to  face,  in  the  same  bonfire,  or  I  have 
little  influence." 

On  hearing  the  demon's  supplications  Briones  re- 
turned and  uncorked  the  bottle.  Mother  Holofernes's 
son-in-law  came  forth  like  a  chick  from  its  shell,  draw- 
ing out  his  head  first  and  then  his  body,  and  lastly  his 
tail,  which  Briones  seized;  and  the  more  the  demon 
tried  to  contract  it  the  firmer  he  held  it. 

After  the  ex-captive,  who  was  somewhat  cramped,  had 
occasionally  stopped  to  stretch  his  arms  and  legs,  they 
took  the  road  to  court,  the  demon  grumbling  and  follow- 
ing the  soldier,  who  carried  the  tail  well  secured  in  his 
hands. 

On  their  arrival  they  went  to  court,  and  the  demon 
said  to  his  liberator: — 

"I  am  going  to  put  myself  into  the  body  of  the  prin- 
[158] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

cess,  who  is  extremely  beloved  by  her  father,  and  I  shall 
give  her  pains  that  no  doctor  will  be  able  to  cure;  then 
you  present  yourself  and  offer  to  cure  her,  demanding 
for  your  recompense  four  dollars  daily,  and  your  dis- 
charge. I  will  then  leave  her  to  you,  and  our  accounts 
will  be  settled." 

Everything  happened  as  arranged  and  foreseen  by  the 
demon,  but  Briones  did  not  wish  to  let  go  his  hold  of  the 
tail,  and  he  said: — 

"Well  devised,  sir,  but  four  dollars  are  a  ransom  un- 
worthy of  you,  of  me,  and  of  the  service  that  we  have 
undertaken.  Find  some  method  of  showing  yourself 
more  generous.  To  do  this  will  give  you  honour  in  the 
world,  where,  pardon  my  frankness,  you  do  not  enjoy 
the  best  of  characters." 

"Would  that  I  could  get  rid  of  you!"  said  the  demon 
to  himself,  "but  I  am  so  weak  and  so  numbed  that  I  am 
not  able  to  go  alone.  I  must  have  patience!  that  which 
men  call  a  virtue.  Oh,  now  I  understand  why  so  many 
fall  into  my  power  for  not  having  practised  it.  For- 
ward then  for  Naples,  for  it  is  necessary  to  submit  in 
order  to  liberate  my  tail.  I  must  go  and  submit  to  the 
arbitration  of  fate  for  the  satisfaction  of  this  new  de- 
mand." 

Everything  succeeded  according  to  his  wish.  The 
princess  of  Naples  fell  a  victim  to  convulsive  pains  and 
took  to  her  bed.  The  king  was  greatly  afflicted. 
Briones  presented  himself  with  all  the  arrogance  his 
knowledge  that  he  would  receive  the  demon's  aid  could 
give  him.     The  king  was  willing  to  make  use  of  his 

[159] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


services,  but  stipulated  that  if  within  three  days  he  had 
not  cured  the  princess,  as  he  confidently  promised  to,  he 
should  be  hanged.  Briones,  certain  of  a  favourable  re- 
sult, did  not  raise  the  slightest  objection. 

Unfortunately,  the  demon  heard  this  arrangement 
made,  and  gave  a  leap  of  delight  at  seeing  within  his 
hands  the  means  of  avenging  himself. 

The  demon's  leap  caused  the  princess  such  pain  that 
she  begged  them  to  take  the  doctor  away. 

The  following  day  this  scene  was  repeated.  Briones 
then  knew  that  the  demon  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and 
intended  to  let  him  be  hanged.  But  Briones  was  not  a 
man  to  lose  his  head. 

On  the  third  day,  when  the  pretended  doctor  arrived, 
they  were  erecting  the  gallows  in  front  of  the  very  pal- 
ace door.  As  he  entered  the  princess's  apartment,  the 
invalid's  pains  were  redoubled  and  she  began  to  cry  out 
that  they  should  put  an  end  to  that  impostor. 

"I  have  not  exhausted  all  my  resources  yet,"  said 
Briones  gravely,  "deign,  your  Royal  Highness,  to  wait 
a  little  while."  He  then  went  out  of  the  room  and  gave 
orders  in  the  princess's  name  that  all  the  bells  of  the 
city  should  be  rung. 

When  he  returned  to  the  royal  apartment,  the  demon, 
who  has  a  mortal  hatred  of  the  sound  of  bells,  and 
is,  moreover,  inquisitive,  asked  Briones  what  the  bells 
were  ringing  for. 

"They  are  ringing,"  responded  the  soldier,  "because 
of  the  arrival  of  your  mother-in-law,  whom  I  have  or- 
dered to  be  summoned." 

Scarcely  had  the  demon  heard  that  his  mother-in-law 
[160] 


THE     devil's     mother-in-law 

had  arrived,  than  he  flew  away  with  such  rapidity  that 
not  even  a  sun's  ray  could  have  caught  him.  Proud  as 
a  peacock,  Briones  was  left  in  victorious  possession  of 
the  field. 


[161] 


THE   GENEROUS    GAMBLERS 
BY    CHARLES    PIERRE    BAUDELAIRE 

Yesterday,  across  the  crowd  of  the  boulevard,  I  found 
myself  touched  by  a  mysterious  Being  I  had  always  de- 
sired to  know,  and  who  I  recognized  immediately,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  had  never  seen  him.  He  had,  I 
imagined,  in  himself,  relatively  as  to  me,  a  similar  de- 
sire, for  he  gave  me,  in  passing,  so  significant  a  sign  in 
his  eyes  that  I  hastened  to  obey  him.  I  followed  him 
attentively,  and  soon  I  descended  behind  him  into  a 
subterranean  dwelling,  astonishing  to  me  as  a  vision, 
where  shone  a  luxury  of  which  none  of  the  actual  houses 
in  Paris  could  give  me  an  approximate  example.  It 
seemed  to  me  singular  that  I  had  passed  so  often  that 
prodigious  retreat  without  having  discovered  the  en- 
trance. There  reigned  an  exquisite,  an  almost  stifling 
atmosphere,  which  made  one  forget  almost  instantane- 
ously all  the  fastidious  horrors  of  life;  there  I  breathed 
a  sombre  sensuality,  like  that  of  opium-smokers  when, 
set  on  the  shore  of  an  enchanted  island,  over  which  shone 
an  eternal  afternoon,  they  felt  born  in  them,  to  the  sooth- 
ing sounds  of  melodious  cascades,  the  desire  of  never 
again  seeing  their  households,  their  women,  their  chil- 

1  From  The  English  Review,  November  1918.  By  permission  of  the 
Editor  and  Mr.  Arthur  Symons. 

[162] 


THE     GENEROUS     GAMBLER 

dren,  and  of  never  again  being  tossed  on  the  decks  of 
ships  by  storms. 

There  were  there  strange  faces  of  men  and  women, 
gifted  with  so  fatal  a  beauty  that  I  seemed  to  have  seen 
them  years  ago  and  in  countries  which  I  failed  to  re- 
member, and  which  inspired  in  me  that  curious  sympa- 
thy and  that  equally  curious  sense  of  fear  that  I  usually 
discover  in  unknown  aspects.  If  I  wanted  to  define  in 
some  fashion  or  other  the  singular  expression  of  their 
eyes,  I  would  say  that  never  had  I  seen  such  magic  ra- 
diance more  energetically  expressing  the  horror  of 
ennui  and  of  desire — of  the  immortal  desire  of  feeling 
themselves  alive. 

As  for  mine  host  and  myself,  we  were  already,  as  we 
sat  down,  as  perfect  friends  as  if  we  had  always  known 
each  other.  We  drank  immeasurably  of  all  sorts  of 
extraordinary  wines,  and — a  thing  not  less  bizarre — it 
seemed  to  me,  after  several  hours,  that  I  was  no  more 
intoxicated  than  he  was. 

However,  gambling,  this  superhuman  pleasure,  had 
cut,  at  various  intervals,  our  copious  libations,  and  I 
ought  to  say  that  I  had  gained  and  lost  my  soul,  as  we 
were  playing,  with  an  heroical  carelessness  and  light- 
heartedness.  The  soul  is  so  invisible  a  thing,  often  use- 
less and  sometimes  so  troublesome,  that  I  did  not  exper- 
ience, as  to  this  loss,  more  than  that  kind  of  emotion  I 
might  have,  had  I  lost  my  visiting  card  in  the  street. 

We  spent  hours  in  smoking  cigars,  whose  incompar- 
able savour  and  perfume  give  to  the  soul  the  nostalgia 
of  unknown  delights  and  sights,  and,  intoxicated  by  all 
these  spiced  sauces,  I  dared,  in  an  access  of  familiarity 

[163] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


which  did  not  seem  to  displease  him,  to  cry,  as  I  lifted  a 
glass  filled  to  the  brim  with  wine:  "To  your  immortal 
health,  Old  He-Goat!" 

We  talked  of  the  universe,  of  its  creation  and  of  its 
future  destruction;  of  the  leading  ideas  of  the  century — 
that  is  to  say,  of  Progress  and  Perfectibility — and,  in 
general,  of  all  kinds  of  human  infatuations.  On  this 
subject  his  Highness  was  inexhaustible  in  his  irrefutable 
jests,  and  he  expressed  himself  with  a  splendour  of  dic- 
tion and  with  a  magnificence  in  drollery  such  as  I  have 
never  found  in  any  of  the  most  famous  conversationalists 
of  our  age.  He  explained  to  me  the  absurdity  of  dif- 
ferent philosophies  that  had  so  far  taken  possession  of 
men's  trains,  and  deigned  even  to  take  me  in  confidence 
in  regard  to  certain  fundamental  principles,  which  I  am 
not  inclined  to  share  with  any  one. 

He  complained  in  no  way  of  the  evil  reputation  under 
which  he  lived,  indeed,  all  over  the  world,  and  he  as- 
sured me  that  he  himself  was  of  all  living  beings  the 
most  interested  in  the  destruction  of  Superstition,  and  he 
avowed  to  me  that  he  had  been  afraid,  relatively  as  to 
his  proper  power,  once  only,  and  that  was  on  the  day 
when  he  had  heard  a  preacher,  more  subtle  than  the 
rest  of  the  human  herd,  cry  in  his  pulpit:  "My  dear 
brethren,  do  not  ever  forget,  when  you  hear  the  prog- 
ress of  lights  praised,  that  the  loveliest  trick  of  the 
Devil  is  to  persuade  you  that  he  does  not  exist!" 

The  memory  of  this  famous  orator  brought  us  natu- 
rally on  the  subject  of  Academies,  and  my  strange  host 
declared  to  me  that  he  didn't  disdain,  in  many  cases,  to 
inspire  the  pens,  the  words,   and   the   consciences   of 

[164] 


THE     GENEROUS     GAMBLER 

pedagogues,  and  that  he  almost  always  assisted  in  per- 
son, in  spite  of  being  invisible,  at  all  the  scientific  meet- 
ings. 

Encouraged  by  so  much  kindness  I  asked  him  if  he 
had  any  news  of  God — who  has  not  his  hours  of  im- 
piety?— especially  as  the  old  friend  of  the  Devil.  He 
said  to  me,  with  a  shade  of  unconcern  united  with  a 
deeper  shade  of  sadness:  "We  salute  each  other  when 
we  meet."     But,  for  the  rest,  he  spoke  in  Hebrew. 

It  is  uncertain  if  his  Highness  has  ever  given  so  long 
an  audience  to  a  simple  mortal,  and  I  feared  to  abuse  it. 

Finally,  as  the  dark  approached  shivering,  this  fa- 
mous personage,  sung  by  so  many  poets,  and  served  by 
so  many  philosophers  who  work  for  his  glory's  sake 
without  being  aware  of  it,  said  to  me:  "I  want  you  to 
remember  me  always,  and  to  prove  to  you  that  I — of 
whom  one  says  so  much  evil — am  often  enough  hon 
diable,  to  make  use  of  one  of  your  vulgar  locutions. 
So  as  to  make  up  for  the  irremediable  loss  that  you  have 
made  of  your  soul,  I  shall  give  you  back  the  stake  you 
ought  to  have  gained,  if  your  fate  had  been  fortunate — 
that  is  to  say,  the  possibility  of  solacing  and  of  conquer- 
ing, during  your  whole  life,  this  bizarre  affection  of 
ennui,  which  is  the  source  of  all  your  maladies  and  of 
all  your  miseries.  Never  a  desire  shall  be  formed  by 
you  that  I  will  not  aid  you  to  realize;  you  will  reign 
over  your  vulgar  equals;  money  and  gold  and  diamonds, 
fairy  palaces,  shall  come  to  seek  you  and  shall  ask  you 
to  accept  them  without  your  having  made  the  least  ef- 
fort to  obtain  them ;  vou  can  change  your  abode  as  often 
as  you  like ;  you  shall  have  in  vour  power  all  sensualities 

[1651 


DEVIL     STORIES 


without  lassitude,  in  lands  where  the  climate  is  always 
hot,  and  where  the  women  are  as  scented  as  the  flow- 
ers." With  this  he  rose  up  and  said  good-bye  to  me 
with  a  charming  smile. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  shame  of  humiliating  my- 
self before  so  immense  an  assembly,  I  might  have  vol- 
untarily fallen  at  the  feet  of  this  generous  Gambler,  to 
thank  him  for  his  unheard-of  munificence.  But,  little 
by  little,  after  I  had  left  him,  an  incurable  defiance  en- 
tered into  me;  I  dared  no  longer  believe  in  so  prodigious 
a  happiness;  and  as  I  went  to  bed,  making  over  again 
my  nightly  prayer  by  means  of  all  that  remained  in  me 
in  the  matter  of  faith,  I  repeated  in  my  slumber:  "My 
God,  my  Lord,  my  God!  Do  let  the  Devil  keep  his 
word  with  me!" 


[166] 


THE   THREE   LOW   MASSES^ 

A  CHRISTMAS   STORY 
BY    ALPHONSE    DAUDET 


"Two  truffled  turkeys,  Garrigou?" 

"Yes,  your  reverence,  two  magnificent  turkeys, 
stuffed  with  truffles.  I  should  know  something  about  it, 
for  I  myself  helped  to  fill  them.  One  would  have  said 
their  skin  would  crack  as  they  were  roasting,  it  is  tliat 
stretched.  .  .  ." 

"Jesu-Maria!  I  who  like  truffles  so  much!  .  -.  . 
Quick,  give  me  my  surplice,  Garrigou.  .  .  .  And  have 
you  seen  anything  else  in  the  kitchen  besides  the  tur- 
keys?" 

"Yes,  all  kinds  of  good  things.  .  .  .  Since  noon,  we 
have  done  nothing  but  pluck  pheasants,  hoopoes,  bam- 
fowls,  and  woodcocks.  Feathers  were  flying  about  all 
over.  .  .  .  Then  they  have  brought  eels,  gold  carp,  and 
trout  out  of  the  pond,  besides.  .  .  ." 

"What  size  were  the  trout,  Garrigou?" 

"As  big  as  that,  your  reverence.  .  .  .  Enormous!" 

"Oh  heavens!  I  think  I  see  them.  .  .  .  Have  you 
put  the  wine  in  the  vessels?" 

1  From  The  Fig  and  the  Idler,  an  Algerian  Legend,  and  Other 
Stories,  by  Alphonse  Daudet,  London,  T.  Fisher  Unwin,  1892.  (By 
permission  of  the  Publisher.) 

[167] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Yes,  your  reverence,  I  have  put  the  wine  in  the  ves- 
sels. .  .  .  But  la!  it  is  not  to  be  compared  to  what  you 
will  drink  presently,  when  the  midnight  mass  is  over. 
If  you  only  saw  that  in  the  dining  hall  of  the  chateau! 
The  decanters  are  all  full  of  wines  glowing  with  every 
colour!  .  .  .  And  the  silver  plate,  the  chased  epergnes, 
the  flowers,  the  lustres!  .  .  .  Never  will  such  another 
midnight  repast  be  seen.  The  noble  marquis  has  in- 
vited all  the  lords  of  the  neighbourhood.  At  least  forty 
of  you  will  sit  down  to  table,  without  reckoning  the  farm 

bailiff  and  the  notary Oh,  how  lucky  is  your 

reverence  to  be  one  of  them!  .  .  .  After  a  mere  sniff 
of  those  fine  turkeys,  the  scent  of  truffles  follows  me 
everywhere.  .  .  .  Yum!" 

"Come  now,  come  now,  my  child.  Let  us  keep  from 
the  sin  of  gluttony,  on  the  night  of  the  Nativity  espe- 
cially. ...  Be  quick  and  light  the  wax-tapers  and  ring 
the  first  bell  for  the  mass ;  for  it's  nearly  midnight  and  we 
must  not  be  behind  time." 

This  conversation  took  place  on  a  Christmas  night  in 
the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  some- 
thing, between  the  Reverend  Dom  Balaguere  (formerly 
Prior  of  the  Bamabites,  now  paid  chaplain  of  the  Lords 
of  Trinquelague),  and  his  little  clerk  Garrigou,  or  at 
least  him  whom  he  took  for  his  little  clerk  Garrigou, 
for  you  must  know  that  the  devil  had  on  that  night  as- 
sumed the  round  face  and  soft  features  of  the  young 
sacristan,  in  order  the  more  effectually  to  lead  the  rev- 
erend father  into  temptation,  and  make  him  commit  the 
dreadful  sin  of  gluttony.  Well  then,  while  the  sup- 
posed Garrigou  (hum!)  was  with  all  his  might  making 

[168] 


THE     THREE     LOW     MASSES 


the  bells  of  the  baronial  chapel  chime  out,  his  reverence 
was  putting  on  his  chasuble  in  the  little  sacristy  of 
the  chateau;  and  with  his  mind  already  agitated  by  all 
these  gastronomic  descriptions,  he  kept  saying  to  himself 
as  he  was  robing: 

"Roasted  turkeys,  .  .  .  golden  carp,  .  .  .  trout  as 
big  as  that!   .  .  ." 

Out  of  doors,  the  soughing  night  wind  was  carrying 
abroad  the  music  of  the  bells,  and  with  this,  lights  be- 
gan to  make  their  appearance  on  the  dark  sides  of  Mount 
Ventoux,  on  the  summit  of  which  rose  the  ancient  towers 
of  Trinquelague.  The  lights  were  borne  by  the  families 
of  the  tenant  farmers,  who  were  coming  to  hear  the  mid- 
night mass  at  the  chateau.  They  were  scaling  the  hill 
in  groups  of  five  or  six  together,  and  singing;  the  father 
in  front  carrying  a  lantern,  and  the  women  wrapped  up 
in  large  brown  cloaks,  beneath  which  their  little  children 
snuggled  and  sheltered.  In  spite  of  the  cold  and  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  these  good  folks  were  marching 
blithely  along,  cheered  by  the  thought  that  after  the 
mass  was  over  there  would  be,  as  always  in  former 
years,  tables  set  for  them  down  in  the  kitchens.  Oc- 
casionally the  glass  windows  in  some  lord's  carriage, 
preceded  by  torch-bearers,  would  glisten  in  the  moon- 
light on  the  rough  ascent;  or  perhaps  a  mule  would  jog 
by  with  tinkling  bells,  and  by  the  light  of  the  misty  lan- 
terns the  tenants  would  recognize  their  bailiff  and  would 
salute  him  as  he  passed  with: 

"Good  evening.  Master  Amoton." 
"Good  evening.     Good  evening,  my  friend." 
The  night  was  clear,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling  with 
[169] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


frost;  the  north  wind  was  nipping,  and  at  times  a  fine 
small  hail,  that  slipped  off  one's  garments  without  wet- 
ting them,  faithfully  maintained  the  tradition  of  Christ- 
mas being  white  with  snow.  On  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
as  the  goal  towards  which  all  were  wending,  gleamed 
the  chateau,,  with  its  enormous  mass  of  towers  and 
gables,  and  its  chapel  steeple  rising  into  the  blue-black 
sky.  A  multitude  of  little  lights  were  twinkling,  com- 
ing, going,  and  moving  about  at  all  the  windows;  they 
looked  like  the  sparks  one  sees  running  about  in  the 
ashes  of  burnt  paper. 

After  you  had  passed  the  drawbridge  and  the  postern 
gate,  it  was  necessary,  in  order  to  reach  the  chapel,  to 
cross  the  first  court,  which  was  full  of  carriages,  foot- 
men and  sedan  chairs,  and  was  quite  illuminated  by  the 
blaze  of  torches  and  the  glare  of  the  kitchen  fires.  Here 
were  heard  the  click  of  turnspits,  the  rattle  of  sauce- 
pans, the  clash  of  glasses  and  silver  plate  in  the  com- 
motion attending  the  preparation  of  the  feast;  while 
over  all  rose  a  warm  vapour  smelling  pleasantly  of 
roast  meat,  piquant  herbs,  and  complex  sauces,  and 
which  seemed  to  say  to  the  farmers,  as  well  as  to  the 
chaplain  and  to  the  bailiff,  and  to  everybody: 

"What  a  good  midnight  repast  we  are  going  to  have 
after  the  mass!" 

II 

Ting-a-ring ! — a — ring ! 

The  midnight  mass  is  beginning  in  the  chapel  of  the 
chateau,  which  is  a  cathedral  in  miniature,  with  groined 

[170] 


THE     THREE     LOW     MASSES 


and  vaulted  roofs,  oak  wood-work  as  high  as  the  walls, 
expanded  draperies,  and  tapers  all  aglow.  And  what 
a  lot  of  people!  What  grand  dresses!  First  of  all, 
seated  in  the  carved  stalls  that  line  the  choir,  is  the 
Lord  of  Trinquelagiie  in  a  coat  of  salmon-coloured  silk, 
and  about  him  are  ranged  all  the  noble  lords  who  have 
been  invited. 

On  the  opposite  side,  on  velvet-covered  praying-stools, 
the  old  dowager  marchioness  in  flame-coloured  brocade, 
and  the  youthful  Lady  of  Trinquelague  wearing  a  lofty 
head-dress  of  plaited  lace  in  the  newest  fashion  of  the 
French  court,  have  taken  their  places.  Lower  down, 
dressed  in  black,  with  punctilious  wigs,  and  shaven 
faces,  like  two  grave  notes  among  the  gay  silks  and  the 
figured  damasks,  are  seen  the  bailiff,  Thomas  Amoton, 
and  the  notary  Master  Ambroy.  Then  come  the  stout 
major-domos,  the  pages,  the  horsemen,  the  stewards, 
Dame  Barbara,  with  all  her  keys  hanging  at  her  side  on 
a  real  silver  ring.  At  the  end,  on  the  forms,  are  the 
lower  class,  the  female  servants,  the  cotter  farmers  and 
their  families;  and  lastly,  down  there,  near  the  door, 
which  they  open  and  shut  very  carefully,  are  messieurs 
the  scullions,  who  enter  in  the  interval  between  two 
sauces,  to  take  a  little  whiff  of  mass;  and  these  bring 
the  smell  of  the  repast  with  them  into  the  church,  which 
now  is  in  high  festival  and  warm  from  the  number  of 
lighted  tapers. 

Is  it  the  sight  of  their  little  white  caps  that  so  dis- 
tracts the  celebrant?  Is  it  not  rather  Garrigou's  bell? 
that  mad  little  bell  which  is  shaken  at  the  altar  foot  with 
an  infernal  impetuosity  that  seems  all  the  time  to  be 

[171] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


saying:  "Come,  let  us  make  haste,  make  haste.  .  .  . 
The  sooner  we  shall  have  finished,  the  sooner  shall  we 
be  at  table."  The  fact  is  that  every  time  this  devil's 
bell  tinkles  the  chaplain  forgets  his  mass,  and  thinks 
of  nothing  but  the  midnight  repast.  He  fancies  he  sees 
the  cooks  bustling  about,  the  stoves  glowing  with  forge- 
like fires,  the  two  magnificent  turkeys,  filled,  crammed, 
marbled  with  truffles.  .  .  . 

Then  again  he  sees,  passing  along,  files  of  little  pages 
carrying  dishes  enveloped  in  tempting  vapours,  and  with 
them  he  enters  the  great  hall  now  prepared  for  the  feast. 
Oh  delight!  there  is  the  immense  table  all  laden  and 
luminous,  peacocks  adorned  with  their  feathers,  pheas- 
ants spreading  out  their  reddish-brown  wings,  ruby-col- 
oured decanters,  pyramids  of  fruit  glowing  amid  green 
boughs,  and  those  wonderful  fish  Garrigou  (ah  well, 
yes,  Garrigou!)  had  mentioned,  laid  on  a  couch  of  fen- 
nel, with  their  pearly  scales  gleaming  as  if  they  had  just 
come  out  of  the  water,  and  bunches  of  sweet-smelling 
herbs  in  their  monstrous  snouts.  So  clear  is  the  vision 
of  these  marvels  that  it  seems  to  Dom  Balaguere  that  all 
these  wondrous  dishes  are  served  before  him  on  the 
embroidered  altar-cloth,  and  two  or  three  times  instead 
of  the  Dominus  vobiscum,  he  finds  himself  saying  the 
Benedicite.  Except  these  slight  mistakes,  the  worthy 
man  pronounces  the  service  very  conscientiously,  with- 
out skipping  a  line,  without  omitting  a  genuflexion;  and 
all  goes  tolerably  well  until  the  end  of  the  first  mass; 
for  you  know  that  on  Christmas  Day  the  same  officiating 
priest  must  celebrate  three  consecutive  masses. 

"That's  one  done!"  says  the  chaplain  to  himself  with 
[172] 


THE     THREE     LOW     MASSES 


a  sigh  of  relief;  then,  without  losing  a  moment,  he  mo- 
tioned to  his  clerk,  or  to  him  whom  he  supposed  to  be 
his  clerk,  and  .  .  . 

"Ting-a-ring  .  .  .  Ting-a-ring,  a-ring!" 

Now  the  second  mass  is  beginning,  and  with  it  begins 
also  Dom  Balaguere's  sin.  "Quick,  quick,  let  us  make 
haste,"  Garrigou's  bell  cries  out  to  him  in  its  shrill  little 
voice,  and  this  time  the  unhappy  celebrant,  completely 
given  over  to  the  demon  of  gluttony,  fastens  upon  the 
missal  and  devours  its  pages  with  the  eagerness  of  his 
over-excited  appetite.  Frantically  he  bows  down,  rises 
up,  merely  indicates  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  the  genu- 
flexions, and  curtails  all  his  gestures  in  order  to  get 
sooner  finished.  Scarcely  has  he  stretched  out  his  arms 
at  the  gospel,  before  he  is  striking  his  breast  at  the 
Confiteor.  It  is  a  contest  between  himself  and  the  clerk 
as  to  who  shall  mumble  the  faster.  Versicles  and  re- 
sponses are  hurried  over  and  run  one  into  another. 
The  words,  half  pronounced,  without  opening  the  mouth, 
which  would  take  up  too  much  time,  terminate  in  un- 
meaning murmurs. 

^'Oremus  ps  .  .  ,  ps  ,  .  ,  ps  ,  ,  ," 

"Mea  culpa  .  ,  .  pa  ,  .  ,  pa  .  .  /' 

Like  vintagers  in  a  hurry  pressing  grapes  in  the  vat, 
these  two  paddle  in  the  mass  Latin,  sending  splashes  in 
every  direction. 

"Dom  .  .  .  scum!  .  .  ."  says  Balaguere. 

".  .  .  Stutuo!  .  .  ."  replies  Garrigou;  a^d  all  the 
time  the  cursed  little  bell  is  tinkling  there  in  their  ears, 
like  the  jingles  they  put  on  post-horses  to  make  them  gal- 
lop fast.  You  may  imagine  at  that  speed  a  low  mass  is 
quickly  disposed  of. 

[173] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"That  makes  two,"  says  the  chaplain  quite  panting; 
then  without  taking  time  to  breathe,  red  and  perspiring, 
he  descends  the  altar  steps  and  .  .  . 

"Ting-a-ring!  .  .  .  Ting-a-ring!  ..." 

Now  the  third  mass  is  beginning.  There  are  but  a 
few  more  steps  to  be  taken  to  reach  the  dining-hall ;  but, 
alas !  the  nearer  the  midnight  repast  approaches  the  more 
does  the  unfortunate  Balaguere  feel  himself  possessed 
by  mad  impatience  and  gluttony.  The  vision  becomes 
more  distinct;  the  golden  carps,  the  roasted  turkeys  are 
there,  there!  .  .  .  He  touches  them,  ...  he  ...  oh 
heavens!  The  dishes  are  smoking,  the  wines  perfume 
the  air;  and  with  furiously  agitated  clapper,  the  little 
bell  is  crying  out  to  him: 

"Quick,  quick,  quicker  yet!" 

But  how  could  he  go  quicker?  His  lips  scarcely 
move.  He  no  longer  pronounces  the  words;  .  .  .  un- 
less he  were  to  impose  upon  Heaven  outright  and  trick  it 
out  of  its  mass.  .  .  .  And  that  is  precisely  what  he  does, 
the  unfortunate  man!  .  .  .  From  temptation  to  tempta- 
tion; he  begins  by  skipping  a  verse,  then  two.  Then 
the  epistle  is  too  long — he  does  not  finish  it,  skims  over 
the  gospel,  passes  before  the  Credo  without  going  into  it, 
skips  the  Pater,  salutes  the  Preface  from  a  distance,  and 
by  leaps  and  bounds  thus  hurls  himself  into  eternal 
damnation,  constantly  followed  by  the  vile  Garrigou 
{vade  retro,  Satanas!),  who  seconds  him  with  wonderful 
skill,  sustains  his  chasuble,  turns  over  the  leaves  two  at 
a  time,  elbows  the  reading-desks,  upsets  the  vessels,  and 
is  continually  sounding  the  little  bell  louder  and  louder, 
quicker  and  quicker. 

[174] 


THE     THREE     LOW     MASSES 


You  should  have  seen  the  scared  faces  of  all  who 
were  present,  as  they  were  obliged  to  follow  this  mass 
by  mere  mimicry  of  the  priest,  without  hearing  a  word; 
some  rise  when  others  kneel,  and  sit  down  when  the  oth- 
ers are  standing  up,  and  all  the  phases  of  this  singular 
service  are  mixed  up  together  in  the  multitude  of  dif- 
ferent attitudes  presented  by  the  worshippers  on  the 
benches.  .  .  . 

"The  abbe  goes  too  fast.  .  .  .  One  can't  follow  him," 
murmured  the  old  dowager,  shaking  her  head-dress  in 
confusion.  Master  Amoton  with  great  steel  spectacles 
on  his  nose  is  searching  in  his  prayer-book  to  find  where 
the  dickens  they  are.  But  at  heart  all  these  good 
folks,  who  themselves  are  thinking  about  feasting,  are 
not  sorry  that  the  mass  is  going  on  at  this  post  haste; 
and  when  Dom  Balaguere  with  radiant  face  turns  to- 
wards those  present  and  cries  with  all  his  might:  "/fe, 
missa  est^^  they  all  respond  to  him  a  "Deo  gratids^^  in 
but  one  voice,  and  that  as  joyous  and  enthusiastic,  as 
if  they  thought  themselves  already  seated  at  the  mid- 
night repast  and  drinking  the  first  toast. 

Ill 

Five  minutes  afterwards  the  crowd  of  nobles  were  sit- 
ting down  in  the  great  hall,  with  the  chaplain  in  the 
midst  of  them.  The  chateau,  illuminated  from  top  to 
bottom,  was  resounding  with  songs,  with  shouts,  with 
laughter,  with  uproar;  and  the  venerable  Dom  Balaguere 
was  thrusting  his  fork  into  the  wing  of  a  fowl,  and 
drowning  all  remorse  for  his  sin  in  streams  of  regal 

[175] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


wine  and  the  luscious  juices  of  the  viands.  He  ate  and 
drank  so  much,  the  dear,  holy  man,  that  he  died  during 
the  night  of  a  terrible  attack,  without  even  having  had 
time  to  repent;  and  then  in  the  morning  when  he  got 
to  heaven,  I  leave  you  to  imagine  how  he  was  received. 

He  was  told  to  withdraw  on  account  of  his  wicked- 
ness. His  fault  was  so  grievous  that  it  effaced  a  whole 
lifetime  of  virtue.  ...  He  had  robbed  them  of  a  mid- 
night mass.  ...  He  should  have  to  pay  for  it  with 
three  hundred,  and  he  should  not  enter  into  Paradise 
until  he  had  celebrated  in  his  own  chapel  these  three 
hundred  Christmas  masses  in  the  presence  of  all  those 
who  had  sinned  with  him  and  by  his  fault.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  And  now  this  is  the  true  legend  of  Dom  Bala- 
guere  as  it  is  related  in  the  olive  country.  At  the  pres- 
ent time  the  chateau  of  Trincfuelague  no  longer  exists, 
but  the  chapel  still  stands  on  the  top  of  Mount  Ventoux, 
amid  a  cluster  of  green  oaks.  Its  decayed  door  rattles 
in  the  wind,  and  its  threshold  is  choked  up  with  vegeta- 
tion; there  are  birds'  nests  at  the  corners  of  the  altar, 
and  in  the  recesses  of  the  lofty  windows,  from  which  the 
stained  glass  has  long  ago  disappeared.  It  seems,  how- 
ever, that  every  year  at  Christmas,  a  supernatural  light 
wanders  amid  these  ruins,  and  the  peasants,  in  going  to 
the  masses  and  to  the  midnight  repasts,  see  this  phantom 
of  a  chapel  illuminated  by  invisible  tapers  that  bum  in 
the  open  air,  even  in  snow  and  wind.  You  may  lau^h 
at  it  if  you  like,  but  a  vine-dresser  of  the  place,  named 
Garrigue,  doubtless  a  descendant  of  Garrigou,  declared 
to  me  that  one  Christmas  night,  when  he  was  a  little 
tipsy,  he  lost  his  way  on  the  hill  of  Trinquelague;  and 

[176] 


THE     THREE     LOW     MASSES 


tliis  is  what  he  saw.  .  .  .  Till  eleven  o'clock,  nothing. 
All  was  silent,  motionless,  inanimate.  Suddenly,  about 
midnight,  a  chime  sounded  from  the  top  of  the  steeple, 
an  old,  old  chime,  which  seemed  as  if  it  were  ten  leagues 
off.  Very  soon  Garrigue  saw  lights  flitting  about,  and 
uncertain  shadows  moving  in  the  road  that  climbs  the 
hill.  They  passed  on  beneath  the  chapel  porch,  and 
murmured: 

"Good  evening.  Master  Amoton!" 

"Good  evening,  good  evening,  my  friends!"  .  .  . 

When  all  had  entered,  my  vine-dresser,  who  was  very 
courageous,  silently  approached,  and  when  he  looked 
through  the  broken  door,  a  singular  spectacle  met  his 
gaze.  All  those  he  had  seen  pass  were  seated  round  the 
choir,  and  in  the  ruined  nave,  just  as  if  the  old  seats 
still  existed.  Fine  ladies  in  brocade,  with  lace  head- 
dresses; lords  adorned  from  head  to  foot;  peasants  in 
flowered  jackets  such  as  our  grandfathers  had;  all  with 
an  old,  faded,  dusty,  tired  look.  From  time  to  time 
the  night  birds,  the  usual  inhabitants  of  the  chapel,  who 
were  aroused  by  all  these  lights,  would  come  and  flit 
round  the  tapers,  the  flames  of  which  rose  straight  and 
ill-defined,  as  if  they  were  burning  behind  a  veil;  and 
what  amused  Garrigue  very  much  was  a  certain  per- 
sonage with  large  steel  spectacles,  who  was  ever  shak- 
ing his  tall  black  wig,  in  which  one  of  these  birds  was 
quite  entangled,  and  kept  itself  upright  by  noiselessly 
flapping  its  v/ings.  ... 

At  the  farther  end,  a  little  old  man  of  childish  figure 
was  on  his  knees  in  the  middle  of  the  choir,  desperately 
shaking  a  clapperless  and  soundless  bell,  whilst  a  priest, 

[177] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


clad  in  ancient  gold,  was  coming  and  going  before  the 
altar,  reciting  prayers  of  which  not  a  word  was  heard. 
.  .  .  Most  certainly  this  was  Dom  Balaguere  in  the  act 
of  saying  his  third  low  mass. 


[178] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS^ 
BY   FREDERICK   BEECHER   PERKINS 

It  will  not  do  at  all  to  disbelieve  in  the  existence  of  a 
personal  devil.  It  is  not  so  many  years  ago  that  one 
of  our  profoundest  divines  remarked  with  indignation 
upon  such  disbelief.  "No  such  person?"  cried  the  doc- 
tor with  energy.  "Don't  tell  me!  I  can  hear  his  tail 
snap  and  crack  about  amongst  the  churches  any  day!" 

And  if  the  enemy  is,  in  truth,  still  as  vigorously  active 
among  the  sons  of  God  as  he  was  in  the  days  of  Job 
(that  is  to  say,  in  the  time  of  Solomon,  when,  as  the  crit- 
ics have  found  out,  the  Book  of  Job  was  written),  then 
surely  still  more  is  he  vigilant  and  sly  in  his  tricks  for 
foreclosing  his  mortgages  upon  the  souls  of  the  wicked. 

And  once  more:  still  more  than  ever  is  his  personal 
appearance  probable  in  these  latter  days.  The  ever- 
lasting tooting  of  the  wordy  Gumming  has  proclaimed 
the  end  of  all  things  for  a  quarter  of  a  century;  and  he 
will  surely  see  his  prophecy  fulfilled  if  he  can  only  keep 
it  up  long  enough.  But,  though  we  discredit  the  sapient 
Second-Adventist  as  to  the  precise  occasion  of  the  dia- 
bolic avatar,  has  there  not  been  a  strange  coincidence 
between  his  noisy  declarations,  and  other  evidences  of 
an  approximation  of  the  spiritual  to  the  bodily  sphere 

1  By  permission  of  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Publishers.    New  York  and 
London. 

[179] 


DEVIL     STORIE  S 


of  life?  Is  not  this  same  quarter  of  a  century  that  of 
the  Spiritists?  Has  it  not  witnessed  the  development 
of  Od?  And  of  clairvoyance?  And  have  not  the  doc- 
trines of  ghosts,  and  re-appearances  of  the  dead,  and  of 
messages  from  them,  risen  into  a  prominence  entirely 
new,  and  into  a  coherence  and  semblance  at  least  of 
fact  and  fixed  law  such  as  was  never  known  before? 
Yea,  verily.  Of  all  times  in  the  world's  history,  to  re- 
ject out  of  one's  beliefs  either  good  spirits  or  bad,  an- 
gelology  or  diabology,  chief  good  being,  or  chief  bad 
being,  this  is  the  most  improper. 

Dr.  Hicok  was  trebly  liable  to  the  awful  temptation, 
under  which  he  had  assuredly  fallen,  over  and  above 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  prig,  which  makes  one  feel  the 
more  glad  that  he  was  so  handsomely  come  up  with  in 
the  end;  such  a  prig  that  everybody  who  knew  him, 
invariably  called  him  (when  he  wasn't  by)  Hicok- 
alorum.  This  charming  surname  had  been  conferred 
on  him  by  a  crazy  old  fellow  with  whom  he  once  got 
into  a  dispute.  Lunatics  have  the  most  awfully  tricky 
ways  of  dodging  out  of  pinches  in  reasoning;  but  Hicok 
knew  too  much  to  know  that;  and  so  he  acquired  his  fine 
title  to  teach  him  one  thing  more. 

Trebly  liable,  we  said.     The  three  reasons  are, — 

1.  He  was  foreign-bom. 

2.  He  was  a  Scotchman. 

3.  He  was  a  physician  and  surgeon. 

The  way  in  which  these  causes  operated  was  as  fol- 
lows (I  wish  it  were  allowable  to  use  Artemas  Ward's 
curiously  satisfactory  vocable  "thusly:"  like  Mrs.  Wig- 
gle's soothing  syrup,  it  "supplies  a  real  want") : — 

[180] 


DEVIL-  PUZZLERS 

Being  foreign-born,  Dr.  Hicok  had  not  the  unfailing 
moral  stamina  of  a  native  American,  and  therefore  was 
comparatively  easily  beset  by  sin.  Being,  secondly,  a 
Scotchman,  he  was  not  only  thoroughly  conceited,  with  a 
conceit  as  immovable  as  the  Bass  Rock,  just  as  other 
folks  sometimes  are,  but,  in  particular,  he  was  perfectly 
sure  of  his  utter  mastery  of  metaphysics,  logic  and  di- 
alectics, or,  as  he  used  to  call  it,  with  a  snobbish  Teu- 
tonicalization,  dialektik.  Now,  in  the  latter  two,  the 
Scotch  can  do  something,  but  in  metaphysics  they  are 
simply  imbecile;  which  quality,  in  the  inscrutable  provi- 
dence of  God,  has  been  joined  with  an  equally  complete 
conviction  of  the  exact  opposite.  Let  not  man,  there- 
fore, put  those  traits  asunder — not  so^much  by  reason 
of  any  divine  ordinance,  as  because  no  man  in  his  senses 
would  try  to  convince  a  Scotchman — or  anybody  else, 
for  that  matter. 

Thirdly,  he  was  a  physician  and  surgeon ;  and  gentle- 
men of  this  profession  are  prone  to  become  either  thor- 
oughgoing materialists,  or  else  implicit  and  extreme  Cal- 
vinistic  Presbyterians,  "of  the  large  blue  kind."  And 
they  are,  moreover,  positive,  hard-headed,  bold,  and 
self-confident.  So  they  have  good  need  to  be.  Did  not 
Majendie  say  to  his  students,  "Gentlemen,  disease  is  a 
subject  which  physicians  know  nothing  about"? 

So  the  doctor  both  believed  in  the  existence  of  a  per- 
sonal devil,  and  believed  in  his  own  ability  to  get  the 
upper  hand  of  that  individual  in  a  tournament  of  the  wits. 
Ah,  he  learned  better  by  terrible  experience!  The  doc- 
tor was  a  dry-looking  little  chap,  with  sandy  hair,  a 
freckled  face,  small  grey  eyes,  and  absurd  white  eye- 

[181] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


brows  and  eyelashes,  which  made  him  look  as  if  he  had 
finished  off  his  toilet  with  just  a  light  flourish  from  the 
dredging-box.  He  was  erect  of  carriage,  and  of  a 
prompt,  ridiculous  alertness  of  step  and  motion,  very 
much  like  that  of  Major  Wellington  De  Boots.  And  his 
face  commonly  wore  a  kind  of  complacent  serenity  such 
as  the  Hindoos  ascribe  to  Buddha.  I  know  a  little  snap- 
pish dentist's-goods  dealer  up  town,  who  might  be  mis- 
taken for  Hicok-alorum  any  day. 

Well,  well — what  had  the  doctor  done?  Why — it  will 
sound  absurd,  probably,  to  some  unbelieving  people — 
but  really  Dr.  Hicok  confessed  the  whole  story  to  me  him- 
self: he  had  made  a  bargain  with  the  Evil  One!  And 
indeed  he  was  such  an  uncommonly  disagreeable-looking 
fellow,  that,  unless  on  some  such  hypothesis,  it  is  im- 
possible to  imagine  how  he  could  have  prospered  as  he 
did.  He  gained  patients,  and  cured  them  too;  made 
money;  invested  successfully;  bought  a  brown-stone 
front — a  house,  not  a  wiglet — then  bought  other  real  es- 
tate; began  to  put  his  name  on  charity  subscription  lists, 
and  to  be  made  vice-president  of  various  things. 

Chiefest  of  all, — it  must  have  been  by  some  super- 
human aid  that  Dr.  Hicok  married  his  wife,  the  then  and 
present  Mrs.  Hicok.  Dear  me!  I  have  described  the 
doctor  easily  enough.  But  how  infinitely  more  difficult 
it  is  to  delineate  Beauty  than  the  Beast:  did  you  ever 
think  of  it?  All  I  can  say  is,  that  she  is  a  very  lovely 
woman  now;  and  she  must  have  been,  when  the  doctor 
married  her,  one  of  the  loveliest  creatures  that  ever  lived 
— a  lively,  graceful,  bright-eyed  brunette,  with  thick  fine 
long  black  hair,  pencilled  delicate  eyebrows,  little  pink 

[182] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 


ears,  thin  high  nose,  great  astonished  brown  eyes,  per- 
fect teeth,  a  little  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  and  a  figure  so 
extremely  beautiful  that  nobody  believed  she  did  not 
pad — hardly  even  the  artists  who — those  of  them  at 
least  who  work  faithfully  in  the  life-school — are  the 
very  best  judges  extant  of  truth  in  costume  and  personal 
beauty.  But,  furthermore,  she  was  good,  with  the  in- 
nocent unconscious  goodness  of  a  sweet  little  child;  and 
of  all  feminine  charms — even  beyond  her  supreme  grace 
of  motion — she  possessed  the  sweetest,  the  most  resistless 
— a  lovely  voice;  whose  tones,  whether  in  speech  or 
song,  were  perfect  in  sweetness,  and  with  a  strange  pene- 
trating sympathetic  quality  and  at  the  same  time  with 
the  most  wonderful  half-delaying  completeness  of  ar- 
ticulation and  modulation,  as  if  she  enjoyed  the  sound 
of  her  own  music.  No  doubt  she  did;  but  it  was  un- 
consciously, like  a  bird.  The  voice  was  so  sweet,  the 
great  loveliness  and  kindness  of  soul  it  expressed  were 
so  deep,  that,  like  every  exquisite  beauty,  it  rayed  forth 
a  certain  sadness  within  the  pleasure  it  gave.  It  awak- 
ened infinite,  indistinct  emotions  of  beauty  and  perfec- 
tion— infinite  longings. 

It's  of  no  use  to  tell  me  that  such  a  spirit — she  really 
ought  not  to  be  noted  so  low  down  as  amongst  human 
beings — that  such  a  spirit  could  have  been  made  glad 
by  becoming  the  yoke-fellow  of  Hicok-alorum,  by  influ- 
ences exclusively  human.  No! — I  don't  believe  it — I 
won't  believe  it — it  can't  be  believed.  I  can't  convince 
you,  of  course,  for  you  don't  know  her;  but  if  you  did, 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  evidence,  and  if  your  knowl- 
edge was  like  mine,  that  from  the  testimony  of  my  own 

[183] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


eyes  and  ears  and  judgment — you  would  know,  just  as  I 
do,  that  the  doctor's  possession  of  his  wife  was  the  key- 
stone of  the  arch  of  completed  proof  on  which  I  found 
my  absolute  assertion  that  he  had  made  that  bargain. 

He  certainly  had!  A  most  characteristic  transaction 
too;  for  while,  after  the  usual  fashion,  it  was  agreed 
by  the  "party  of  the  first  part," — viz.,  Old  Scratch — 
that  Dr.  Hicok  should  succeed  in  whatever  he  undertook 
during  twenty  years,  and  by  the  party  of  the  second 

part,  that  at  the  end  of  that  time  the  D should  fetch 

him  in  manner  and  form  as  is  ordinarily  provided,  yet 
there  was  added  a  peculiar  clause.  This  was,  that, 
when  the  time  came  for  the  doctor  to  depart,  he  should 
be  left  entirely  whole  and  unharmed,  in  mind,  body,  and 
estate,  provided  he  could  put  to  the  Devil  three  consecu- 
tive questions,  of  which  either  one  should  be  such  that 
that  cunning  spirit  could  not  solve  it  on  the  spot. 

So  for  twenty  years  Dr.  Hicok  lived  and  prospered, 
and  waxed  very  great.  He  did  not  gain  one  single 
pound  avoirdupois  however,  which  may  perchance  seem 
strange,  but  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  Who 
ever  saw  a  little,  dry,  wiry,  sandy,  freckled  man,  with 
white  eyebrows,  that  did  grow  fat?  And  besides,  the 
doctor  spent  all  his  leisure  time  in  hunting  up  his  saving 
trinity  of  questions;  and  hard  study,  above  all  for  such 
a  purpose,  is  as  sure  an  anti-fattener  as  Banting. 

He  knew  the  Scotch  metaphysicians  by  heart  already, 
ex'officio  as  it  were;  but  he  very  early  gave  up  the  idea 
of  trying  to  fool  the  Devil  with  such  mud-pie  as  that. 
Yet  be  it  understood,  that  he  found  cause  to  except  Sir 
William  Hamilton  from  the  muddle-headed  crew.     He 

[184] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 


chewed  a  good  while,  and  pretty  hopefully,  upon  the 
Quantification  of  the  Predicate;  but  he  had  to  give  that 
up  too,  when  he  found  out  how  small  and  how  dry  a 
meat  rattled  within  the  big,  noisy  nut-shell.  He  read 
Saint  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  Peter  Dens,  and  a  cartload 
more  of  old  casuists,  Romanist  and  Protestant. 

He  exhausted  the  learning  of  the  Development 
Theory.  He  studied  and  experimented  up  to  the  exist- 
ing limits  of  knowledge  on  the  question  of  the  Origin  of 
Life,  and  then  poked  out  alone,  as  much  farther  as  he 
could,  into  the  ineffable  black  darkness  that  is  close  at 
the  end  of  our  noses  on  that,  as  well  as  most  other  ques- 
tions. He  hammered  his  way  through  the  whole  con- 
troversy on  the  Freedom  of  the  Will.  He  mastered  the 
whole  works  of  Mrs.  Henry  C.  Carey  on  one  side,  and 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  English  capitalists  and  Ameri- 
can college  professors  on  the  other,  on  the  question  of 
Protection  or  Free  Trade.  He  made,  with  vast  pains, 
an  extensive  collection  of  the  questions  proposed  at  de- 
bating societies  and  college-students'  societies  with  long 
Greek  names.  The  last  effort  was  a  failure.  Dr. 
Hicok  had  got  the  idea,  that,  from  the  spontaneous  ac- 
tivity of  so  many  free  young  geniuses,  many  wondrous 
and  suggestive  thoughts  would  be  born.  Having,  how- 
ever, tabulated  his  collection,  he  found,  that,  among  all 
these  innumerable  gymnasia  of  intellect,  there  were 
only  seventeen  questions  debated!  The  doctor  read  me 
a  curious  little  memorandum  of  his  conclusions  on  this 
unexpected  fact,  which  will  perhaps  be  printed  some 
day. 

He  investigated  many  other  things  too;  for  a  sharp- 
[185] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


witted  little  Presbyterian  Scotch  doctor,  working  to  cheat 
the  Devil  out  of  his  soul,  can  accomplish  an  amazing 
deal  in  twenty  years.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  take 
into  consideration  mere  humbugs ;  for,  if  he  could  cheat 
the  enemy  with  a  humbug,  why  not?  The  only  pain  in 
that  case,  would  be  the  mortification  of  having  stooped 
to  an  inadequate  adversary — a  foeman  unworthy  of  his 
steel.  So  he  weighed  such  queries  as  the  old  scholastic 
brocard,  An  chimoera  bombinans  in  vacuo  devorat  se- 
cundas  intentiones?  and  that  beautiful  moot  point  where- 
with Sir  Thomas  More  silenced  the  challenging  school- 
men of  Bruges,  An  averia  carrucae  capta  in  vetito  nomio 
sint  irreplegibilia? 

He  glanced  a  little  at  the  subject  of  conundrums;  and 
among  the  chips  from  his  workshop  is  a  really  clever 
theory  of  conundrums.  He  has  a  classification  and 
discussion  of  them,  all  his  own,  and  quite  ingenious 
and  satisfactory,  which  divides  them  into  answerable 
and  unanswerable,  and,  under  each  of  these,  into  re- 
semblant  and  differential. 

For  instance:  let  the  four  classes  be  distinguished 
with  the  initials  of  those  four  terms,  A.  R.,  A.  D.,  U.  R., 
and  U.  D. ;  you  will  find  that  the  Infinite  Possible  Conun- 
drum (so  to  speak)  can  always  be  reduced  under  one  of 
those  four  heads.  Using  symbols,  as  they  do  in  dis- 
cussing syllogism — indeed,  by  the  way,  a  conundrum 
is  only  a  jocular  variation  in  the  syllogism,  an  inten- 
tional fallacy  for  fun  (read  Whately's  Logic,  Book  HI., 
and  see  if  it  isn't  so) — using  symbols,  I  say,  you  have 
these  four  "figures:" — 

I.  (A.  R.)  Why  is  A  like  B?  (answerable) :  as.  Why 
[186] 


DEVIL- PUZZLERS 


is  a  gentleman  who  gives  a  young  lady  a  young  dog,  like 
a  person  who  rides  rapidly  up  hill?  A.  Because  he 
gives  a  gallop  up  (gal-a-pup). 

Sub-variety;  depending  upon  a  violation  of  some- 
thing like  the  "principle  of  excluded  middle,"  a  very 
fallacy  of  a  fallacy;  such  as  the  ancient  "nigger-min- 
strel!" case.  Why  is  an  elephant  like  a  brick?  A.  Be- 
cause neither  of  them  can  climb  a  tree. 

II.  (A.  D.)  Why  is  A  unlike  B?  (answerable)  usu- 
ally put  thus:  What  is  the  difference  between  A  and 
B?  (Figure  I.,  if  worded  in  the  same  style,  would  be- 
come: "What  is  the  similarity  between  A  and  B?) :  as, 
What  is  the  difference  between  the  old  United-States 
Bank  and  the  Fulton  Ferry-boat  signals  in  thick  weather? 
A.  One  is  a  fog  whistle,  and  the  other  is  a  Whig  fossil. 

III.  (U.  R.)  Why  is  A  like  B?  (unanswerable):  as 
Charles  Lamb's  well-known  question,  Is  that  your  own 
hare,  or  a  wig? 

IV.  (U.  D.)  Why  is  A  unlike  B?  (unanswerable)  :  i.  e., 
What  is  the  difference,  &c.,  as.  What  is  the  difference 
between  a  fac  simile  and  a  sick  family;  or  between  hy- 
draulics and  raw-hide  licks? 

But  let  me  not  diverge  too  far  into  frivolity.  All  the 
hopefully  difficult  questions  Dr.  Hicok  set  down  and 
classified.  He  compiled  a  set  of  rules  on  the  subject, 
and  indeed  developed  a  whole  philosophy  of  it,  by  which 
he  struck  off,  as  soluble,  questions  or  classes  of  them. 
Some  he  thought  out  himself;  others  were  now  and  then 
answered  in  some  learned  book,  that  led  the  way 
through  the  very  heart  of  one  or  another  of  his  biggest 
mill-stones. 

[187] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


So  it  was  really  none  too  much  time  that  he  had;  and, 
in  truth,  he  did  not  actually  decide  upon  his  three  ques- 
tions, until  just  a  week  before  the  fearful  day  when  he 
was  to  put  them. 

It  came  at  last,  as  every  day  of  reckoning  surely 
comes;  and  Dr.  Hicok,  memorandum  in  hand,  sat  in 
his  comfortable  library  about  three  o'clock  on  one  beau- 
tiful warm  summer  afternoon,  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  his 
heart  thumping  away  like  Mr.  Krupp's  biggest  steam- 
hammer  at  Essen,  his  mouth  and  tongue  parched  and 
feverish,  a  pitcher  of  cold  water  at  hand  from  which 
he  sipped  and  sipped,  though  it  seemed  as  if  his  throat 
repelled  it  into  "the  globular  state,"  or  dispersed  it  into 
steam,  as  red-hot  iron  does.  Around  him  were  the  rec- 
ords of  the  vast  army  of  doubters  and  quibblers  in  whose 
works  he  had  been  hunting,  as  a  traveller  labours 
through  a  jungle,  for  the  deepest  doubts,  the  most  re- 
mote inquiries. 

Sometimes,  with  that  sort  of  hardihood,  rather  than 
reason,  which  makes  a  desperate  man  try  to  believe  by 
his  will  what  he  longs  to  know  to  be  true.  Dr.  Hicok 
would  say  to  himself,  "I  know  I've  got  him!"  And  then 
his  heart  would  seem  to  fall  out  of  him,  it  sank  so  sud- 
denly, and  with  so  deadly  a  faintness,  as  the  other  side 
of  his  awful  case  loomed  before  him,  and  he  thought, 
"But  if — ?"  He  would  not  finish  that  question;  he 
could  not.  The  furthest  point  to  which  he  could  bring 
himself  was  that  of  a  sort  of  icy  outer  stiffening  of  ac- 
quiescence in  the  inevitable. 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  street-door.  The  servant 
brought  in  a  card,  on  a  silver  salver. 

[188] 


DEVIL- PUZZLERS 


MR.  APOLLO  LYON 


"Show  the  gentleman  in,"  said  the  doctor.  He  spoke 
with  difficulty;  for  the  effort  to  control  his  own  nervous 
excitement  was  so  immense  an  exertion,  that  he  hardly 
had  the  self-command  and  muscular  energy  even  to  ar- 
ticulate. 

The  servant  returned,  and  ushered  into  the  library  a 
handsome,  youngish,  middle-aged  and  middle-sized  gen- 
tleman, pale,  with  large  melancholy  black  eyes,  and 
dressed  in  the  most  perfect  and  quiet  style. 

The  doctor  arose,  and  greeted  his  visitor  with  a  de- 
gree of  steadiness  and  politeness  that  did  him  the  great- 
est credit. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  he  said:  "I  am  happy" — but 
it  struck  him  that  he  wasn't,  and  he  stopped  short. 

"Very  right,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  the  guest,  in  a  voice 
that  was  musical  but  perceptibly  sad,  or  rather  patient 
in  tone.  "Very  right;  how  hollow  those  formulas  are! 
I  hate  all  forms  and  ceremonies!  But  I  am  glad  to  see 
you,  doctor.     Now,  that  is  really  the  fact." 

No  doubt!  "Divil  doubt  him!"  as  an  Irishman  would 
say.  So  is  a  cat  glad  to  see  a  mouse  in  its  paw.  Some- 
thing like  these  thoughts  arose  in  the  doctor's  mind;  he 
smiled  as  affably  as  he  could,  and  requested  the  visitor 
to  be  seated. 

"Thanks!"  replied  he,  and  took  the  chair  which  the 
doctor  moved  up  to  the  table  for  him.     He  placed  his 

[189] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


hat  and  gloves  on  the  table.  There  was  a  brief  pause, 
as  might  happen  if  any  two  friends  sat  down  at  their 
ease  for  a  chat  on  matters  and  things  in  general.  The 
visitor  turned  over  a  volume  or  two  that  lay  on  the 
table. 

"The  Devil,"  he  read  from  one  of  them;  "His  Origin, 
Greatness,  and  Decadence.  By  the  Rev.  A.  Reville, 
D.D." 

"Ah!"  he  commented  quietly.  "A  Frenchman,  I  ob- 
serve. If  it  had  been  an  Englishman,  I  should  fancy 
he  wrote  the  book  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme  in  the  title. 
Do  you  know,  doctor,  I  fancy  that  incredulity  of  his  will 
substitute  one  dash  for  the  two  periods  in  the  reverend 
gentleman's  degree!  I  know  no  one  greater  condition  of 
success  in  some  lines  of  operation,  than  to  have  one's  ex- 
istence thoroughly  disbelieved  in." 

The  doctor  forced  himself  to  reply:  "I  hardly  know 
how  I  came  to  have  the  book  here.  Yet  he  does  make 
out  a  pretty  strong  case.  I  confess  I  would  like  to  be 
certified  that  he  is  right.  Suppose  you  allow  yourself 
to  be  convinced?"  And  the  poor  fellow  grinned:  it 
couldn't  be  called  a  smile. 

"Why,  really,  I'll  look  into  it.  I've  considered  the 
point  though,  not  that  I'm  sure  I  could  choose.  And 
you  know,  as  the  late  J.  Milton  very  neatly  observed,  one 
would  hardly  like  to  lose  one's  intellectual  being, 
'though  full  of  pain ;'  "  and  he  smiled,  not  unkindly  but 
sadly,  and  then  resumed:  "A  Bible  too.  Very  good 
edition.  I  remember  seeing  it  stated  that  a  professional 
person  made  it  his  business  to  find  errors  of  the  press 
in  one  of  the  Bible  Society's  editions — this  very  one, 

[190] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 


I  think;  and  the  only  one  he  could  discover  was  a  single 
'wrong  font.'     Very  accurate  work — very!" 

He  had  been  turning  over  the  leaves  indifferently  as 
he  spoke,  and  laid  the  volume  easily  back.  "Curious 
old  superstition  that,"  he  remarked,  "that  certain  per- 
sonages were  made  uncomfortable  by  this  work!  And 
he  gave  the  doctor  a  glance,  as  much  as  to  ask,  in  the 
most  delicate  manner  in  the  world,  "Did  you  put  that 
there  to  scare  me  with?" 

I  think  the  doctor  blushed  a  little.  He  had  not  really 
expected,  you  know, — still,  in  case  there  should  be  any 
prophylactic  influence — ?  No  harm  done,  in  any 
event;  and  that  was  precisely  the  observation  made  by 
the  guest. 

"No  harm  done,  my  dear  fellow!"  he  said,  in  his 
calm,  quiet,  musical  voice.  No  good,  either,  I  imagine 
they  both  of  them  added  to  themselves. 

There  is  an  often  repeated  observation,  that  people 
under  the  pressure  of  an  immeasurable  misery  or  agony 
seem  to  take  on  a  pretematurally  sharp  vision  for 
minute  details,  such  as  spots  in  the  carpet,  and  sprigs  in 
the  wall-paper,  threads  on  a  sleeve,  and  the  like.  Prob- 
ably the  doctor  felt  this  influence.  He  had  dallied  a 
little,  too,  with  the  crisis;  and  so  did  his  visitor — from 
diff"erent  motives,  no  doubt;  and,  as  he  sat  there,  his  eye 
fell  on  the  card  that  had  just  been  brought  to  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said;  "but  might  I  ask  a 
question  about  your  card?" 

"Most  certainly,  doctor:  what  is  it?" 

"Why — it's  always  a  liberty  to  ask  questions  about  a 
gentleman's  name,  and  we  Scotchmen  are  particularly 

[191] 


DEVIL     STORIES 

sensitive  on  the  point;  but  I  have  always  been  interested 
in  the  general  subject  of  patronomatology." 

The  other,  by  a  friendly  smile  and  a  deprecating  wave 
of  the  hand,  renewed  his  welcome  to  the  doctor's  ques- 
tion. 

"Well,  it's  this:  How  did  you  come  to  decide  upon 
that  form  of  name — Mr.  Apollo  Lyon?" 

"Oh!  just  a  little  fancy  of  mine.  It's  a  newly-in- 
vented variable  card,  I  believe  they  call  it.  There's  a 
temporary  ink  arrangement.  It  struck  me  it  was  liable 
to  abuse  in  case  of  an  assumption  of  aliases;  but  per- 
haps that's  none  of  my  business.  You  can  easily  take 
off  the  upper  name,  and  another  one  comes  out  under- 
neath.    I'm  always  interested  in  inventions.     See." 

And  as  the  text,  "But  they  have  sought  out  many  in- 
ventions," passed  through  Dr.  Hicok's  mind,  the  other 
drew  forth  a  white  handkerchief,  and,  rubbing  the  card 
in  a  careless  sort  of  way,  laid  it  down  before  the  doctor. 
Perhaps  the  strain  on  the  poor  doctor's  nerves  was  un- 
steadying  him  by  this  time:  he  may  not  have  seen  right; 
but  he  seemed  to  see  only  one  name,  as  if  compounded 
from  the  former  two. 


APOLLYON 


And  it  seemed  to  be  in  red  ink  instead  of  black;  and 
the  lines  seemed  to  creep  and  throb  and  glow,  as  if  the 
red  were  the  red  of  fire,  instead  of  vermilion.  But  red 
is  an  extremely  trying  colour  to  the  eyes.     However,  the 

[192] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 


doctor,  startled  as  he  was,  thought  best  not  to  raise  any 
further  queries,  and  only  said,  perhaps  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, "Very  curious,  I'm  sure!" 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Lyon,  or  whatever  his  name 
was,  "I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,  but  I  suppose  we  might 
as  well  have  our  little  business  over?" 

"Why,  yes.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  to  consider 
any  question  of  compromises  or  substitutes?" 

"I  fear  it's  out  of  the  question,  really,"  was  the  reply, 
most  kindly  in  tone,  but  with  perfect  distinctness. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  It  seemed  to  Dr. 
Hicok  as  if  the  beating  of  his  heart  must  fill  the  room, 
it  struck  so  heavily,  and  the  blood  seemed  to  surge  with 
so  loud  a  rush  through  the  carotids  up  past  his  ears. 
"Shall  I  be  found  to  have  gone  off  with  a  rush  of  blood 
to  the  head?"  he  thought  to  himself.  But — it  can  very 
often  be  done  by  a  resolute  effort — he  gathered  himself 
together  as  it  were,  and  with  one  powerful  exertion  mas- 
tered his  disordered  nerves.  Then  he  lifted  his  memo- 
randum, gave  one  glance  at  the  sad,  calm  face  opposite 
him,  and  spoke. 

"You  know  they're  every  once  in  a  while  explaining  a 
vote,  as  they  call  it,  in  Congress.  It  don't  make  any 
difference,  I  know;  but  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  should  put 
you  more  fully  in  possession  of  my  meaning,  if  I  should 
just  say  a  word  or  two,  about  the  reasons  for  my  selec- 
tion." 

The  visitor  bowed  with  his  usual  air  of  pleasant  ac- 
quiescence. 

"I  am  aware,"  said  Dr.  Hicok,  "that  my  selection 
would  seem  thoroughly  commonplace  to  most  people. 

[193] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


Yet  nobody  knows  better  than  you  do,  my  dear  sir,  that 
the  oldest  questions  are  the  newest.  The  same  vitality 
which  is  so  strong  in  them,  as  to  raise  them  as  soon  as 
thought  begins,  is  infinite,  and  maintains  them  as  long 
as  thought  endures.  Indeed,  I  may  say  to  you  frankly, 
that  it  is  by  no  means  on  novelty,  but  rather  on  antiquity, 
that  I  rely." 

The  doctor's  hearer  bowed  with  an  air  of  approving 
interest.  "Very  justly  reasoned,"  he  observed.  The 
doctor  went  on — 

"I  have,  I  may  say — and  under  the  circumstances  I 
shall  not  be  suspected  of  conceit — made  pretty  much  the 
complete  circuit  of  unsolved  problems.  They  class  ex- 
actly as  those  questions  do  which  we  habitually  reckon 
as  solved:  under  the  three  subjects  to  which  they  relate — 
God,  the  intelligent  creation,  the  unintelligent  creation. 
Now,  I  have  selected  my  questions  accordingly — one  for 
each  of  those  divisions.  Whether  I  have  succeeded  in 
satisfying  the  conditions  necessary  will  appear  quickly. 
But  you  see  that  I  have  not  stooped  to  any  quibbling,  or 
begging  either.  I  have  sought  to  protect  myself  by  the 
honourable  use  of  a  masculine  reason." 

"Your  observations  interest  me  greatly,"  remarked 
the  audience.  "Not  the  less  so,  that  they  are  so  ac- 
curately coincident  with  my  own  habitual  lines  of 
thought — at  least,  so  far  as  I  can  judge  from  what  you 
have  said.  Indeed,  suppose  you  had  called  upon  me  to 
help  you  prepare  insoluble  problems.  I  was  bound,  I 
suppose,  to  comply  to  the  best  of  my  ability;  and,  if  I 
had  done  so,  those  statements  of  yours  are  thus  far  the 

[194] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 


very  preface  I  supplied — I  beg  your  pardon — should 
have  supplied — you  with.  I  fancy  I  could  almost  state 
the  questions.     Well?" — 

All  this  was  most  kind  and  complimentary;  but  some- 
how it  did  not  encourage  the  doctor  in  the  least.  He 
even  fancied  that  he  detected  a  sneer,  as  if  his  inter- 
locutor had  been  saying,  "Flutter  away,  old  bird !  That 
was  my  bait  that  you  have  been  feeding  on:  you're  safe 
enough;  it  is  my  net  that  holds  you." 

''First  Question/'  said  Dr.  Hicok,  with  steadiness: 
"Reconcile  the  foreknowledge  and  the  fore-ordination 
of  God  with  the  free  will  of  man?" 

"I  thought  so,  of  course,"  remarked  the  other.  Then 
he  looked  straight  into  the  doctor's  keen  little  grey  eyes 
with  his  deep  melancholy  black  ones,  and  raised  his 
slender  forefinger.  "Most  readily.  The  reconciliation 
is  your  own  conscience,  doctor!  Do  what  you  know  to 
be  right,  and  you  will  find  that  there  is  nothing  to  rec- 
oncile— ^that  you  and  your  Maker  have  no  debates  to 
settle!" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  weighty  solemnity  and 
conviction  that  were  even  awful.  The  doctor  had  a 
conscience,  though  he  had  found  himself  practically 
forced,  for  the  sake  of  success,  to  use  a  good  deal  of 
constraint  with  it — in  fact,  to  lock  it  up,  as  it  were,  in  a 
private  mad-house,  on  an  unfounded  charge  of  lunacy. 
But  the  obstinate  thing  would  not  die,  and  would  not 
lose  its  wits;  and  now  all  of  a  sudden,  and  from  the 
very  last  quarter  where  it  was  to  be  expected,  came  a 
summons  before  whose  intensity  of  just  requirement  no 

[195]' 


DEVIL     STORIES 


bolts  could  stand.  The  doctor's  conscience  walked  out 
of  her  prison,  and  came  straight  up  to  the  field  of  battle, 
and  said — 

"Give  up  the  first  question." 

And  he  obeyed. 

"I  confess  it,"  he  said.  "But  how  could  I  have  ex- 
pected a  great  basic  truth  both  religiously  and  psycho- 
logically so,  from — from  you?" 

"Ah!  my  dear  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "you  have  erred  in 
that  line  of  thought,  exactly  as  many  others  have.  The 
truth  is  one  and  the  same,  to  God,  man,  and  devil." 

"Second  Question,"  said  Dr.  Hicok.  "Reconcile  the 
development  theory,  connection  of  natural  selection  and 
sexual  relation,  with  the  responsible  immortality  of  the 
soul." 

"Unquestionably,"  assented  the  other,  as  if  to  say, 
"Just  as  I  expected." 

"No  theory  of  creation  has  any  logical  connection 
with  any  doctrine  of  immortality.  What  was  the  mo- 
tive of  creation? — that  would  be  a  question!  If  you 
had  asked  me  that!  But  the  question,  'Where  did  men 
come  from?'  has  no  bearing  on  the  question,  'Have  they 
any  duties  now  that  they  are  here?'  The  two  are  recon- 
ciled, because  they  do  not  differ.  You  can't  state  any 
inconsistency  between  a  yard  measure  and  a  fifty-six 
pound  weight." 

The  doctor  nodded;  he  sat  down;  he  took  a  glass  of 
water,  and  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart.  "Now,  then," 
he  said  to  himself,  "once  more!  If  I  have  to  stand  this 
fifteen  minutes  I  shall  be  in  some  other  world!" 

The  door  from  the  inner  room  opened;  and  Mrs. 
[196] 


DEVIL-  PUZZLERS 


Hicok  came  singing  in,  carrying  balanced  upon  her 
pretty  pink  fore-finger  something  or  other  of  an  airy 
bouquet-like  fabric.  Upon  this  she  was  looking  with 
much  delight. 

"See,  dear!"  she  said:  "how  perfectly  lovely!" 

Both  gentlemen  started,  and  the  lady  started  too. 
She  had  not  known  of  the  visit;  and  she  had  not,  until 
this  instant,  seen  that  her  husband  was  not  alone. 

Dr.  Hicok,  of  course,  had  never  given  her  the  key  to 
his  skeleton-closet;  for  he  was  a  shrewd  man.  He  loved 
her  too;  and  he  thought  he  had  provided  for  her  absence 
during  the  ordeal.  She  had  executed  her  shopping  with 
unprecedented  speed. 

Why  the  visitor  started,  would  be  difficult,  to  say. 
Perhaps  her  voice  startled  him.  The  happy  music  in  it 
was  enough  like  a  beautified  duplicate  of  his  own  thrill- 
ing sweet  tones,  to  have  made  him  acknowledge  her  for 
a  sister — from  heaven.     He  started,  at  any  rate. 

"Mr.  Lyon,  my  wife,"  said  the  doctor,  somewhat  at  a 
loss.     Mr.  Lyon  bowed,  and  so  did  the  lady. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,  I  am  sure,"  she  said. 
"I  did  not  know  you  were  busy,  dear.  There  is  a 
thundershower  coming  up.  I  drove  home  just  in 
season." 

"Oh! — only  a  little  wager,  about  some  conundrums," 
said  the  doctor.  Perhaps  he  may  be  excused  for  his 
fib.     He  did  not  want  to  annoy  her  unnecessarily. 

"Oh,  do  let  me  know!"  she  said,  with  much  eagerness. 
"You  know  how  I  enjoy  them!" 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "not  exactly  the  ordinary 
kind.     I  was  to  puzzle  my  friend  here  with  one  out  of 

[197] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


three  questions;  and  he  has  beaten  me  in  two  of  them  al- 
ready.    I've  but  one  more  chance." 

"Only  one?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile.  "What  a 
bright  man  your  friend  must  be!  I  thought  nobody 
could  puzzle  you,  dear.  Stay;  let  me  ask  the  other 
question." 

Both  the  gentlemen  started  again:  it  was  quite  a  sur- 
prise. 

"But  are  you  a  married  man,  Mr.  Lyon?"  she  asked, 
with  a  blush. 

"No,  madam,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  very  graceful 
bow — "I  have  a  mother,  but  no  wife.  Permit  me  to 
say,  that,  if  I  could  believe  there  was  a  duplicate  of 
yourself  in  existence,  I  would  be  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Oh,  what  a  gallant  speech!"  said  the  lady.  "Thank 
you,  sir,  very  much;"  and  she  made  him  a  pretty  little 
curtsy.  "Then  I  am  quite  sure  of  my  question,  sir. 
Shall  I,  dear?" 

The  doctor  quickly  decided.  "I  am  done  for,  any- 
how," he  reflected.  "I  begin  to  see  that  the  old  villain 
put  those  questions  into  my  head  himself.  He  hinted 
as  much.  I  don't  know  but  I'd  rather  she  would  ask 
it.  It's  better  to  have  her  kill  me,  I  guess,  than  to 
hold  out  the  carving-knife  to  him  myself." 

"With  all  my  heart,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  "if 
Mr.  Lyon  consents." 

Mr.  Lyon  looked  a  little  disturbed;  but  his  manner 
was  perfect,  as  he  replied  that  he  regretted  to  seem  to 
disoblige,  but  that  he  feared  the  conditions  of  their  little 
bet  would  not  allow  it. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,  for  being  so  uncivil," 
[198] 


DEVIL- PUZZLERS 


said  the  lively  little  beauty,  as  she  whispered  a  few 
words  in  her  husband's  ear. 

This  is  what  she  said — 

"What's  mine's  yours,  dear.  Take  it.  Ask  him — 
buz,  buzz,  buzz." 

The  doctor  nodded.  Mrs.  Hicok  stood  by  him  and 
smiled,  still  holding  in  her  pretty  pink  fore-finger  the 
frail  shimmering  thing  just  mentioned;  and  she  gave  it 
a  twirl,  so  that  it  swung  quite  round.  "Isn't  it  a  love  of 
a  bonnet?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  the  doctor  said  aloud.  "I  adopt  the  ques- 
tion." 

"Third  Question,     Which  is  the  front  side  of  this?" 

And  he  pointed  to  the  bonnet.  It  must  have  been  a 
bonnet,  because  Mrs.  Hicok  called  it  so.  I  shouldn't 
have  known  it  from  the  collection  of  things  in  a  kaleido- 
scope, bunched  up  together. 

The  lady  stood  before  him,  and  twirled  the  wondrous 
fabric  round  and  round,  with  the  prettiest  possible  un- 
conscious roguish  look  of  defiance.  The  doctor's  very 
heart  stood  still. 

"Put  it  on,  please,"  said  Mr.  Lyon,  in  the  most  in- 
nocent way  in  the  world. 

"Oh,  no!"  laughed  she.  "I  know  I'm  only  a  woman, 
but  I'm  not  quite  so  silly!  But  I'll  tell  you  what:  you 
men  put  it  on,  if  you  think  that  will  help  you!"  And 
she  held  out  the  mystery  to  him. 

Confident  in  his  powers  of  discrimination,  Mr.  Lyon 
took  hold  of  the  fairy-like  combination  of  sparkles  and 
threads  and  feathers  and  flowers,  touching  it  with  that 
sort  of  timid  apprehension  that  bachelors  use  with  a 

[199] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


baby.  He  stood  before  the  glass  over  the  mantelpiece. 
First  he  put  it  across  his  head  with  one  side  in  front, 
and  then  with  the  other.  Then  he  put  it  lengthways  of 
his  head,  and  tried  the  effect  of  tying  one  of  the  two 
couples  of  strings  under  each  of  his  ears.  Then  he  put 
it  on,  the  other  side  up;  so  that  it  swam  on  his  head  like 
a  boat,  with  a  high  mounted  bow  and  stem.  More  than 
once  he  did  all  this,  with  obvious  care  and  thoughtful- 
ness. 

Then  he  came  slowly  back,  and  resumed  his  seat.  It 
was  growing  very  dark,  though  they  had  not  noticed  it; 
for  the  thunder-shower  had  been  hurrying  on,  and  al- 
ready its  advanced  guard  of  wind,  heavy  laden  with  the 
smell  of  the  rain,  could  be  heard,  and  a  few  large  drops 
splashed  on  the  window. 

The  beautiful  wife  of  the  doctor  laughed  merrily  to 
watch  the  growing  discomposure  of  the  visitor,  who  re- 
turned the  bonnet,  with  undiminished  courtesy,  but  with 
obvious  constraint  of  manner. 

He  looked  down;  he  drummed  on  the  table;  he  looked 
up;  and  both  the  doctor  and  the  doctor's  wife  were 
startled  at  the  intense  sudden  anger  in  the  dark,  hand- 
some face.  Then  he  sprang  up,  and  went  to  the  window. 
He  looked  out  a  moment,  and  then  said — 

"Upon  my  word,  that  is  going  to  be  a  very  sharp 
squall!  The  clouds  are  very  heavy.  If  I'm  any  judge, 
something  will  be  struck.  I  can  feel  the  electricity  in 
the  air." 

While  he  still  spoke,  the  first  thunder-bolt  crashed 
overhead.  It  was  one  of  those  close,  sudden,  overpow- 
eringly  awful  explosions  from  clouds  very  heavy  and 

[200] 


DEVIL- PUZZLERS 


very  near,  where  the  lightning  and  the  thunder  leap  to- 
gether out  of  the  very  air  close  about  you,  even  as  if  you 
were  in  them.  It  was  an  unendurable  burst  of  sound, 
and  of  the  intense  white  sheety  light  of  very  near  light- 
ning. Dreadfully  frightened,  the  poor  little  lady  clung 
close  to  her  husband.  He,  poor  man,  if  possible  yet 
more  frightened,  exhausted  as  he  was  by  what  he  had 
been  enduring,  fainted  dead  away.  Don't  blame  him:  a 
cast-iron  bull-dog  might  have  fainted. 

Mrs.  Hicok,  thinking  that  her  husband  was  struck 
dead  by  the  lightning,  screamed  terribly.  Then  she 
touched  him;  and,  seeing  what  was  really  the  matter, 
administered  cold  water  from  the  pitcher  on  the  table. 
Shortly  he  revived. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know,  love.  I  thought  you  were  dead.  He 
must  have  gone  away.     Did  it  strike  the  house?" 

"Gone  away?  Thank  God!  Thank  you,  dear!" 
cried  out  the  doctor. 

Not  knowing  any  adequate  cause  for  so  much  emo- 
tion, she  answered  him — 

"Now,  love,  don't  you  ever  say  women  are  not  prac- 
tical again.  That  was  a  practical  question,  you  see. 
But  didn't  it  strike  the  house?  What  a  queer  smell. 
Ozone:  isn't  that  what  you  were  telling  me  about?  How 
funny,  that  lightning  should  have  a  smell!" 

"I  believe  there's  no  doubt  of  it,"  observed  Dr.  Hicok. 

Mr.  Apollo  Lyon  had  really  gone,  though  just  how  or 
when,  nobody  could  say. 

"My  dear,"  said  Dr.  Hicok,  "I  do  so  like  that  bonnet 
of  yours!     I  don't  wonder  it  puzzled  him.     It  would 

[201] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


puzzle  the  Devil  himself.     I  firmly  believe  I  shall  call 
it  your  Devil-puzzler." 

But  he  never  told  her  what  the  puzzle  had  been. 


[202] 


THE   DEVIL'S    ROUND^ 

A  TALE   OF  FLEMISH   GOLF 

BY   CHARLES   DEULIN 

[The  following  story,  translated  by  Miss  Isabel  Bruce  from 
Le  Grand  Choleur  of  M.  Charles  Deulin  (Contes  du  Roi  Gam- 
brinus),  gives  a  great  deal  of  information  about  French  and 
Flemish  golf.  As  any  reader  will  see,  this  ancient  game  repre- 
sents a  stage  of  evolution  between  golf  and  hockey.  The  object 
is  to  strike  a  ball,  in  as  few  strokes  as  possible,  to  a  given  point; 
but,  after  every  three  strokes,  the  opponent  is  allowed  to  decho- 
ler,  or  make  one  stroke  back,  or  into  a  hazard.  Here  the  ele- 
ment of  hockey  comes  in.  Get  rid  of  this  element,  let  each 
man  hit  his  own  ball,  and,  in  place  of  styking  to  a  point — 
say,  the  cemetery  gate — let  men  "putt"  into  holes,  and  the 
Flemish  game  becomes  golf.  It  is  of  great  antiquity.  Du- 
cange,  in  his  Lexicon  of  Low  Latin,  gives  Choulla,  French 
choule  =  "Globulus  ligneus  qui  clava  propellitur" — a  wooden 
ball  struck  with  a  club.  The  head  of  the  club  was  of  iron  (cf. 
crossare) .  This  is  borne  out  by  a  miniature  in  a  missal  of 
1504,  which  represents  peasants  playing  choule  with  clubs  very 
like  niblicks.  Ducange  quotes  various  MS.  references  of  1353, 
1357,  and  other  dates  older  by  a  century  than  our  earliest 
Scotch  references  to  golf.  At  present  the  game  is  played  in 
Belgium  with  a  strangely-shaped  lofting-iron  and  a  ball  of 
beechwood.  M.  Zola  (Germinal,  p.  310)  represents  his  miners 
playing  chole,  or  choulle,  and  says  that  they  hit  drives  of  more 
than  500  yards.     Experiments  made  at  Wimbledon  with  a  Bel- 

1  From  Longman's  Magazine,  vol.  xiv.  [Copyright  1889  by  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  London  &  New  York.  By  permission  of  the  Pub- 
lishers.] 

[203] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


gian  club  sent  over  by  M.  Charles  Michel  suggest  that  M.  Zola 
has  over-estimated  the  distance.  But  M.  Zola  and  M.  Deulin 
agree  in  making  the  players  run  after  the  ball.  M.  Henri 
Gaidoz  adds  that  a  similar  game,  called  soule,  is  played  in  va- 
rious departments  of  France.  He  refers  to  Laisnel  de  la  Salle. 
The  name  chole  may  be  connected  with  German  Kolhe,  and 
golf  may  be  the  form  which  this  word  would  assume  in  a 
Celtic  language.  All  this  makes  golf  very  old;  but  the  ques- 
tion arises,  Are  the  "holes"  to  which  golfers  play  of  Scotch  or 
of  Dutch  origin?  There  are  several  old  Flemish  pictures  of 
golf;  dp  any  of  them  show  players  in  the  act  of  "  holing  out  "? 
There  is  said  to  be  such  a  picture  at  Neuchatel. 

A.  Lang.] 


Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  at  the  hamlet  of  Coq, 
near  Conde-sur-l'Escaut,  a  wheelwright  called  Roger. 
He  was  a  good  fallow,  untiring  both  at  his  sport  and  at 
his  toil,  and  as  skilful  in  lofting  a  ball  with  a  stroke  of 
his  club  as  in  putting  together  a  cartwheel.  Every  one 
knows  that  the  game  of  golf  consists  in  driving  towards 
a  given  point  a  ball  of  cherrywood  with  a  club  which 
has  for  head  a  sort  of  little  iron  shoe  without  a  heel. 

For  my  part,  I  do  not  know  a  more  amusing  game; 
and  when  the  country  is  almost  cleared  of  the  harvest, 
men,  women,  children,  everybody,  drives  his  ball  as 
you  please,  and  there  is  nothing  cheerier  than  to  see 
them  filing  on  a  Sunday  like  a  flight  of  starlings  across 
potato  fields  and  ploughed  lands. 


[204] 


THE     devil's     round 


II 

Well,  one  Tuesday,  it  was  a  Shrove  Tuesday,  the 
wheelwright  of  Coq  laid  aside  his  plane,  and  was  slip- 
ping on  his  blouse  to  go  and  drink  his  can  of  beer  at 
Conde,  when  two  strangers  came  in,  club  in  hand. 

"Would  you  put  a  new  shaft  to  my  club,  master?" 
said  one  of  them. 

"What  are  you  asking  me,  friends?  A  day  like 
tliis!  I  wouldn't  give  the  smallest  stroke  of  the  chisel 
for  a  brick  of  gold.  Besides,  does  ony  one  play  golf 
on  Shrove  Tuesday?  You  had  much  better  go  and  see 
the  mummers  tumbling  in  the  high  street  of  Conde." 

"We  take  no  interest  in  the  tumbling  of  mummers," 
replied  the  stranger.  "We  have  challenged  each  other 
at  golf  and  we  want  to  play  it  out.  Come,  you  won't  re- 
fuse to  help  us,  you  who  are  said  to  he  one  of  the  finest 
players  of  the  country?" 

"If  it  is  a  match,  that  is  different,"  said  Roger. 

He  turned  up  his  sleeves,  hooked  on  his  apron,  and 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  had  adjusted  the  shaft. 

"How  much  do  I  owe  you?"  asked  the  unknown,  draw- 
ing out  his  purse. 

"Nothing  at  all,  faith;  it  is  not  worth  while." 

The  stranger  insisted,  but  in  vain. 


Ill 

"You  are  too  honest,  i'faith,"  said  he  to  the  wheel- 
wright, "for  me  to  be  in  your  debt.  I  will  grant  you 
the  fulfilment  of  three  wishes." 

[205] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Don't  forget  to  wish  what  is  best,^^  added  his  com- 
panion. 

At  these  words  the  wheelwright  smiled  incredulously. 

"Are  you  not  a  couple  of  the  loafers  of  Capelette?" 
he  asked,  with  a  wink. 

The  idlers  of  the  crossways  of  Capelette  were  con- 
sidered the  wildest  wags  in  Conde. 

"Whom  do  you  take  us  for?"  replied  the  unknown 
in  a  tone  of  severity,  and  with  his  club  he  touched  an 
axle,  made  of  iron,  which  instantly  changed  into  one  of 
pure  silver. 

"Who  are  you,  then,"  cried  Roger,  "that  your  word 
is  as  good  as  ready  money?" 

"I  am  St.  Peter,  and  my  companion  is  St.  Antony,  the 
patron  of  golfers." 

"Take  the  trouble  to  walk  in,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
wheelwright  of  Coq;  and  he  ushered  the  two  saints  into 
the  back  parlour.  He  offered  them  chairs,  and  went  to 
draw  a  jug  of  beer  in  the  cellar.  They  clinked  their 
glasses  together,  and  after  each  had  lit  his  pipe: 

"Since  you  are  so  good,  sir  saints,"  said  Roger,  "as  to 
grant  me  the  accomplishment  of  three  wishes,  know 
that  for  a  long  while  I  have  desired  three  things.  I 
wish,  first  of  all,  that  whoever  seats  himself  upon  the 
elm-trunk  at  my  door  may  not  be  able  to  rise  without 
my  permission.  I  like  company  and  it  bores  me  to  be 
always  alone." 

St.  Peter  shook  his  head  and  St.  Antony  nudged  his 
client. 


[2061 


THE     devil's     round 


IV 

"When  I  play  a  game  of  cards,  on  Sunday  evening,  at 
the  'Fighting  Cock,'  "  continued  the  wheelwright,  "it  is 
no  sooner  nine  o'clock  than  the  garde-champetre  comes 
to  chuck  us  out.  I  desire  that  whoever  shall  have  his 
feet  on  my  leathern  apron  cannot  be  driven  from  the 
place  where  I  shall  have  spread  it." 

St.  Peter  shook  his  head,  and  St.  Antony,  with  a  sol- 
emn air,  repeated: 

"Don't  forget  what  is  best." 

"What  is  best,"  replied  the  wheelwright  of  Coq,  nobly, 
"is  to  be  the  first  golfer  in  the  world.  Every  time  I 
find  my  master  at  golf  it  turns  my  blood  as  black  as  the 
inside  of  the  chimney.  So  I  want  a  club  that  will  carry 
ihe  ball  as  high  as  the  belfry  of  Conde,  and  will  infal- 
libly win  me  my  match." 

"So  be  it,"  said  St.  Peter. 

"You  would  have  done  better,"  said  St.  Antony,  "to 
have  asked  for  your  eternal  salvation." 

"Bah!"  replied  the  other.  "I  have  plenty  of  time  to 
think  of  that;  I  am  not  yet  greasing  my  boots  for  the 
long  journey." 

The  two  saints  went  out  and  Roger  followed  them, 
curious  to  be  present  at  such  a  rare  game;  but  sud- 
denly, near  the  Chapel  of  St.  Antony,  they  disappeared. 

The  wheelwright  then  went  to  see  the  mummers  tum- 
bling in  the  high  street  of  Conde. 

When  he  returned,  towards  midnight,  he  found  at  the 
comer  of  his  door  the  desired  club.  To  his  great  sur- 
prise it  was  only  a  bad  little  iron  head  attached  to  a 

[207] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


wretched  worn-out  shaft.     Nevertheless  he  took  the  gift 
of  St.  Peter  and  put  it  carefully  away. 


Next  morning  the  Condeens  scattered  in  crowds  over 
the  country,  to  play  golf,  eat  red  herrings,  and  drink 
beer,  so  as  to  scatter  the  fumes  of  wine  from  their  heads 
and  to  revive  after  the  fatigues  of  the  Carnival.  The 
wheelwright  of  Coq  came  too,  with  his  miserable  club, 
and  made  such  fine  strokes  that  all  the  players  left  their 
games  to  see  him  play.  The  following  Sunday  he 
proved  still  more  expert;  little  by  little  his  fame  spread 
through  the  land.  From  ten  leagues  round  the  most 
skilful  players  hastened  to  come  and  be  beaten,  and  it 
was  then  that  he  was  named  the  Great  Golfer. 

He  passed  the  whole  Sunday  in  golfing,  and  in  the 
evening  he  rested  himself  by  playing  a  game  of  matri- 
mony at  the  "Fighting  Cock."  He  spread  his  apron 
under  the  feet  »-of  the  players,  and  the  devil  himself 
could  not  have  put  them  out  of  the  tavern,  much  less  the 
rural  policeman.  On  Monday  morning  he  stopped  the 
pilgrims  who  were  going  to  worship  at  Notre  Dame  de 
Bon  Secours;  he  induced  them  to  rest  themselves  upon 
his  causeuse,  and  did  not  let  them  go  before  he  had  con- 
fessed them  well. 

In  short,  he  led  the  most  agreeable  life  that  a  good 
Fleming  can  imagine,  and  only  regretted  one  thing — 
namely,  that  he  had  not  wished  it  might  last  for  ever. 


[208] 


THE     devil's     round 


VI 

Well,  it  happened  one  day  that  the  strongest  player 
of  Mons,  who  was  called  Patemostre,  was  found  dead  on 
the  edge  of  a  bunker.  His  head  was  broken,  and  near 
him  was  his  niblick,  red  with  blood. 

They  could  not  tell  who  had  done  this  business,  and  as 
Paternostre  often  said  that  at  golf  he  feared  neither  man 
nor  devil,  it  occurred  to  them  that  he  had  challenged 
Mynheer  van  Belzebuth,  and  that  as  a  punishment  for 
this  he  had  knocked  him  on  the  head.  Mynheer  van 
Belzebuth  is,  as  every  one  knows,  the  greatest  gamester 
that  there  is  upon  or  under  the  earth,  but  the  game  he 
particularly  affects  is  golf.  When  he  goes  his  round  in 
Flanders  one  always  meets  him,  club  in  hand,  like  a 
true  Fleming. 

The  wheelwright  of  Coq  was  very  fond  of  Patemostre, 
who,  next  to  himself,  was  the  best  golfer  in  the  country. 
He  went  to  his  funeral  with  some  golfers  from  the  ham- 
lets of  Coq,  La  Cigogne,  and  La  Queue  de  I'Ayache. 

On  returning  from  the  cemetery  they  went  to  the 
tavern  to  drink,  as  they  say,  to  the  memory  of  the  dead,^ 
and  there  they  lost  themselves  in  talk  about  the  noble 
game  of  golf.  When  they  separated,  in  the  dusk  of 
evening: 

"A  good  journey  to  you,"  said  the  Belgian  players, 
"and  may  St.  Antony,  the  patron  of  golfers,  preserve 
you  from  meeting  the  devil  on  the  way!" 

"What  do  I  care  for  the  devil?"  replied  Roger.  "If 
he  challenged  me  I  should  soon  beat  him!" 

1  Boire  la  cervelle  du  mort. 

[209] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


The  companions  trotted  from  tavern  to  tavern  without 
misadventure;  but  the  wolf -bell  had  long  tolled  for  re- 
tiring in  the  belfry  of  Conde  when  they  returned  each 
one  to  his  own  den. 

VII 

As  he  was  putting  the  key  into  the  lock  the  wheel- 
wright thought  he  heard  a  shout  of  mocking  laughter. 
He  turned,  and  saw  in  the  darkness  a  man  six  feet  high, 
who  again  burst  out  laughing. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  said  he,  crossly. 

"At  what?  Why,  at  the  aplomb  with  which  you 
boasted  a  little  while  ago  that  you  would  dare  measure 
yourself  against  the  devil." 

"Why  not,  if  he  challenged  me?" 

"Very  well,  my  master,  bring  your  clubs.  I  chal- 
lenge you!"  said  Mynheer  van  Belzebuth,  for  it  was 
himself.  Roger  recognized  him  by  a  certain  odour  of 
sulphur  that  always  hangs  about  his  majesty. 

"What  shall  the  stake  be?"  he  asked  resolutely. 

"Your  soul?" 

"Against  what?" 

"Whatever  you  please." 

The  wheelwright  reflected. 

"What  have  you  there  in  your  sack?" 

"My  spoils  of  the  week." 

"Is  the  soul  of  Paternostre  among  them?" 

"To  be  sure!  and  those  of  five  other  golfers;  dead, 
like  him,  without  confession." 

"I  play  you  my  soul  against  that  of  Paternostre." 

"Done!" 

[210] 


THE     devil's     round 


VIII 

The  two  adversaries  repaired  to  the  adjoining  field 
and  chose  for  their  goal  the  door  of  the  cemetery  of 
Conde/  Belzebuth  teed  a  ball  on  a  frozen  heap,  after 
■which  he  said,  according  to  custom: 

"From  here,  as  you  lie,  in  how  many  turns  of  three 
strokes  will  you  run  in?" 

"In  two,"  replied  the  great  golfer. 

And  his  adversary  was  not  a  little  surprised,  for 
from  there  to  the  cemetery  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a 
league. 

"But  how  shall  we  see  the  ball?"  continued  the  wheel- 
wright. 

"True!"  said  Belzebuth. 

He  touched  the  ball  with  his  club,  and  it  shone  sud- 
denly in  the  dark  like  an  immense  glowworm. 

"Fore!"  cried  Roger. 

He  hit  the  ball  with  the  head  of  his  club,  and  it  rose 
to  the  sky  like  a  star  going  to  rejoin  its  sisters.  In  three 
strokes  it  crossed  three-quarters  of  the  distance. 

"That  is  good!"  said  Belzebuth,  whose  astonishment 
redoubled.     "My  turn  to  play  now!"  ^ 

With  one  stroke  of  the  club  he  drove  the  ball  over  the 
roofs  of  Coq  nearly  to  Maison  Blanche,  half  a  league 
away.  The  blow  was  so  violent  that  the  iron  struck 
fire  against  a  pebble. 

"Good  St.  Antony!  I  am  lost,  unless  you  come  to  my 
aid,"  murmured  the  wheelwright  of  Coq. 

■^  They  play  to  points,  not  holes. 

2  After  each  three  strokes  the  opponent  has  one  hit  back,  or  into  a 
hazard. 

[211] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


He  struck  tremblingly;  but,  though  his  arm  was  un- 
certain, the  club  seemed  to  have  acquired  a  new  vigour. 
At  the  second  stroke  the  ball  went  as  if  of  itself  and  hit 
the  door  of  the  cemetery. 

"By  the  horns  of  my  grandfather!"  cried  Belzebuth, 
"it  shall  not  be  said  that  I  have  been  beaten  by  a  son  of 
that  fool  Adam.     Give  me  my  revenge." 

"What  shall  we  play  for?" 

"Your  soul  and  that  of  Paternostre  against  the  souls 
of  two  golfers." 

IX 

The  devil  played  up,  "pressing"  furiously;  his  club 
blazed  at  each  stroke  with  showers  of  sparks.  The  ball 
flew  from  Conde  to  Bon-Secours,  to  Pemwelz,  to  Leuze. 
Once  it  spun  away  to  Tournai,  six  leagues  from  there. 

It  left  behind  a  luminous  tail  like  a  comet,  and  the 
two  golfers  followed,  so  to  speak,  on  its  track.  Roger 
w^as  never  able  to  understand  how  he  ran,  or  rather  flew 
so  fast,  and  without  fatigue. 

In  short,  he  did  not  lose  a  single  game,  and  won  the 
souls  of  the  six  defunct  golfers.  Belzebuth  rolled  his 
eyes  like  an  angry  tom-cat. 

"Shall  we  go  on?"  said  the  wheelwright  of  Coq. 

"No,"  replied  the  other;  "they  expect  me  at  the 
Witches'  Sabbath  on  the  hill  of  Copiemont. 

"That  brigand,"  said  he  aside,  "is  capable  of  filching 
all  my  game." 

And  he  vanished. 

Returned  home,  the  great  golfer  shut  up  his  souls 
[212] 


THE     devil's     round 


in  a  sack  and  went  to  bed,  enchanted  to  have  beaten 
Mynheer  van  Belzebuth. 


Two  years  after  the  wheelwright  of  Coq  received  a 
visit  which  he  little  expected.  An  old  man,  tall,  thin 
and  yellow,  came  into  the  workshop  carrying  a  scythe 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Are  you  bringing  me  your  scythe  to  haft  anew,  mas- 
ter?" 

"No,  faith,  my  scythe  is  never  unhafted." 

"Then  how  can  I  serve  you?" 

"By  following  me:  your  hour  is  come." 

"The  devil,"  said  the  great  golfer,  "could  you  not 
wait  a  little  till  I  have  finished  this  wheel?" 

"Be  it  so!  I  have  done  hard  work  today  and  I  have 
well  earned  a  smoke." 

"In  that  case,  master,  sit  down  there  on  the  causeuse. 
I  have  at  your  service  some  famous  tobacco  at  sev^n 
petards  the  pound." 

"That's  good,  faith;  make  haste." 

And  Death  lit  his  pipe  and  seated  himself  at  the  door 
on  the  elm  trunk. 

Laughing  in  his  sleeve,  the  wheelwright  of  Coq  re- 
turned to  his  work.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
Death  called  to  him: 

"Ho!  faith,  will  you  soon  have  finished?" 

The  wheelwright  turned  a  deaf  ear  and  went  on  plan- 
ing, singing: 


[213] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Attendez-moi  sur  Torme; 
Vous  m'attendrez  longtemps." 

"I  don't  think  he  hears  me,"  said  Death.  "Ho! 
friend,  are  you  ready?" 

"Va-t-en  voir  s'ils  viennent,  Jean, 
Va-t-en  voir  s'ils  viennent," 

replied  the  singer. 

"Would  the  brute  laugh  at  me?"  said  Death  to  him- 
self. 

And  he  tried  to  rise. 

To  his  great  surprise  he  could  not  detach  himself 
from  the  causeuse.  He  then  understood  that  he  was  the 
sport  of  a  superior  power. 

"Let  us  see,"  he  said  to  Roger.  "What  will  you  take 
to  let  me  go?  Do  you  wish  me  to  prolong  your  life 
ten  years?" 

"J'ai  de  bon  tabac  dans  ma  tabatiere," 

sang  the  great  golfer. 

"Will  you  take  twenty  years?" 

"II  pleut,  il  pleut,  bergere; 
Rentre  tes  blancs  moutons." 

"Will  you  take  a  fifty,  wheelwright? — may  the  devil 
admire  you!" 

The  wheelwright  of  Coq  intoned: 

"Bon  voyage,  cher  Dmnollet, 
A  Saint-Malo  debarquez  sans  naufrage." 

In  the  meanwhile  the  clock  of  Conde  had  just  struck 
[214] 


THE     devil's     round 


four,  and  the  boys  were  coming  out  of  school.  The 
sight  of  this  great  dry  heron  of  a  creature  who  strug- 
gled on  the  causeuse,  like  a  devil  in  a  holy-water  pot, 
surprised  and  soon  delighted  them. 

Never  suspecting  that  when  seated  at  the  door  of  the 
old,  Death  watches  the  young,  they  thought  it  funny  to 
put  out  their  tongues  at  him,  singing  in  chorus: 

"Bon  voyage,  cher  Dumollet, 
A  Saint-Malo  debarquez  sans  naufrage." 

"Will  you  take  a  hundred  years?"  yelled  Death. 

"Hein?  How?  What?  Were  you  not  speaking  of 
an  extension  of  a  hundred  years?  I  accept  with  all  my 
heart,  master;  but  let  us  understand:  I  am  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  ask  for  the  lengthening  of  my  old  age." 

"Then  what  do  you  want?" 

"From  old  age  I  only  ask  the  experience  which  it 
gives  by  degrees.  'Si  jeunesse  savait,  si  vieillesse  pou- 
vait!'  says  the  proverb.  I  wish  to  preserve  for  a  hun- 
dred years  the  strength  of  a  young  man,  and  to  acquire 
the  knowledge  of  an  old  one." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Death;  "I  shall  return  this  day  a 
hundred  years." 


"Bon  voyage,  cher  Dumollet, 
A  Saint-Malo  debarquez  sans  naufrage.' 


XI 

The  great  golfer  began  a  new  life.     At  first  he  en- 
joyed perfect  happiness,  which  was  increased  by  the  cer- 

[215] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


tainty  of  its  not  ending  for  a  hundred  years.  Thanks  to 
his  experience,  he  so  well  understood  the  management 
of  his  affairs  that  he  could  leave  his  mallet  and  shut  up 
shop.^ 

He  experienced,  nevertheless,  an  annoyance  he  had 
not  foreseen.  His  wonderful  skill  at  golf  ended  by 
frightening  the  players  whom  he  had  at  first  delighted, 
and  was  the  cause  of  his  never  finding  any  one  who 
would  play  against  him. 

He  therefore  quitted  the  canton  and  set  out  on  his 
travels  over  French  Flanders,  Belgium,  and  all  the 
greens  where  the  noble  game  of  golf  is  held  in  honour. 
At  the  end  of  twenty  years  he  returned  to  Coq  to  be  ad- 
mired by  a  new  generation  of  golfers,  after  which  he 
departed  to  return  twenty  years  later. 

Alas!  in  spite  of  its  apparent  charm,  this  existence  be- 
fore long  became  a  burden  to  him.  Besides  that,  it 
bored  him  to  win  on  every  occasion;  he  was  tired  of  pass- 
ing like  the  Wandering  Jew  through  generations,  and  of 
seeing  the  sons,  grandsons,  and  great-grandsons  of  his 
friends  grow  old,  and  die  out.  He  was  constantly  re- 
duced to  making  new  friendships  which  were  undone 
by  the  age  or  death  of  his  fellows;  all  changed  around 
him,  he  only  did  not  change. 

He  grew  impatient  of  this  eternal  youthfulness  which 
condemned  him  to  taste  the  same  pleasures  for  ever, 
and  he  sometimes  longed  to  know  the  calmer  joys  of  old 
age.  One  day  he  caught  himself  at  his  looking-glass, 
examining  whether  his  hair  had   not  begun  to   grow 

1  Vivre  a  parte  close. 

[216] 


THE     devil's     round 


white;  nothing  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him  now  as  the 
snow  on  the  forehead  of  the  old. 


XII 

In  addition  to  this,  experience  soon  made  him  so  wise 
that  he  was  no  longer  amused  at  anything.  If  some- 
limes  in  the  tavern  he  had  a  fancy  for  making  use  of  his 
apron  to  pass  the  night  at  cards:  "What  is  the  good  of 
this  excess?"  whispered  experience;  "it  is  not  sufficient 
to  be  unable  to  shorten  one's  days,  one  must  also  avoid 
making  oneself  ill." 

He  reached  the  point  of  refusing  himself  the  pleasure 
of  drinking  his  pint  and  smoking  his  pipe.  Why,  in- 
deed, plunge  into  dissipations  which  enervate  the  body 
and  dull  the  brain? 

The  wretch  went  further  and  gave  up  golf!  Experi- 
ence convinced  him  that  the  game  is  a  dangerous  one, 
which  overheats  one,  and  is  eminently  adapted  to  pro- 
duce colds,  catarrhs,  rheumatism,  and  inflammation  of 
the  lungs. 

Besides,  what  is  the  use,  and  what  great  glory  is  it  to 
be  reputed  the  first  golfer  in  the  world? 

Of  what  use  is  glory  itself?  A  vain  hope,  vain  as  the 
smoke  of  a  pipe. 

When  experience  had  thus  bereft  him  one  by  one  of 
his  delusions,  the  unhappy  golfer  became  mortally 
weary.  He  saw  that  he  had  deceived  himself,  that  de- 
lusion has  its  price,  and  that  the  greatest  charm  of 
youth  is  perhaps  its  inexperience. 

[217] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


He  thus  arrived  at  the  term  agreed  on  in  the  contract, 
and  as  he  had  not  had  a  paradise  here  below,  he  sought 
through  his  hardly-acquired  wisdom  a  clever  way  of 
conquering  one  above. 

XIII 

Death  found  him  at  Goq  at  work  in  his  shop.  Ex- 
perience had  at  least  taught  him  that  work  is  the  most 
lasting  of  pleasures. 

"Are  you  ready?"  said  Death. 

"I  am." 

He  took  his  club,  put  a  score  of  balls  in  his  pocket, 
threw  his  sack  over  his  shoulder,  and  buckled  his  gaiters 
without  taking  off  his  apron. 

"What  do  you  want  your  club  for?" 

"Why,  to  golf  in  paradise  with  my  patron  St.  An- 
tony." 

"Do  you  fancy,  then,  that  I  am  going  to  conduct  you 
to  paradise?" 

"You  must,  as  I  have  half-a-dozen  souls  to  carry 
there,  that  I  once  saved  from  the  clutches  of  Belzebuth." 

"Better  have  saved  your  own.  En  route,  cher  Du- 
molletr 

The  great  golfer  saw  that  the  old  reaper  bore  him  a 
grudge,  and  that  he  was  going  to  conduct  him  to  the 
paradise  of  the  lost.^ 

Indeed  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  two  travellers 
knocked  at  the  gate  of  hell. 

"Toe,  toe!" 

1  Noires  glaives. 

[218] 


THE     devil's     round 


"Who  is  there?" 

"The  wheelwright  of  Coq,"  said  the  great  golfer. 

"Don't  open  the  door,"  cried  Belzebuth;  "that  rascal 
wins  at  every  turn;  he  is  capable  of  depopulating  my 
empire." 

Roger  laughed  in  his  sleeve. 

"Oh!  you  are  not  saved,"  said  Death.  "I  am  going 
to  take  you  where  you  won't  be  cold  either." 

Quicker  than  a  beggar  would  have  emptied  a  poor's 
box  they  were  in  purgatory. 

"Toe— toe!" 

"Who  is  there?" 

"The  wheelwright  of  Coq,"  said  the  great  golfer. 

"But  he  is  in  a  state  of  mortal  sin,"  cried  the  angel 
on  duty.  "Take  him  away  from  here — he  can't  come 
in." 

"I  cannot,  all  the  same,  let  him  linger  between  heaven 
and  earth,"  said  Death;  "I  shall  shunt  him  back  to  Coq." 

"Where  they  will  take  me  for  a  ghost.  Thank  you! 
is  there  not  still  paradise?" 

XIV 

They  were  there  at  the  end  of  a  short  hour. 
"Toe,  toe!' 


!" 
"Who  is  there?" 


"The  wheelwright  of  Coq,"  said  the  great  golfer. 

"Ah!  my  lad,"  said  St.  Peter,  half  opening  the  door, 
"I  am  really  grieved.  St.  Antony  told  you  long  ago 
you  had  better  ask  for  the  salvation  of  your  soul." 

"That  is  true,  St.  Peter,"  replied  Roger  with  a  sheep- 
[2191 


DEVIL     STORIES 


ish  air.  "And  how  is  he,  that  blessed  St.  Antony? 
Could  I  not  come  in  for  one  moment  to  return  the  visit 
he  once  paid  me?" 

"Why,  here  he  comes,"  said  St.  Peter,  throwing  the 
door  wide  open. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  sly  golfer  had  flung 
himself  into  paradise,  unhooked  his  apron,  let  it  fall  to 
the  ground,  and  seated  himself  down  on  it. 

"Good  morning,  St.  Antony,"  said  he  with  a  fine  sa- 
lute. "You  see  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  par- 
adise, for  here  we  are!" 

"What!     You  here!"  cried  St.  Antony. 

"Yes,  I  and  my  company,"  replied  Roger,  opening 
his  sack  and  scattering  on  the  carpet  the  souls  of  the  six 
golfers. 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  pack  right  off,  all  of 
you?" 

"Impossible,"  said  the  great  golfer,  showing  his 
apron. 

"The  rogue  has  made  game  of  us,"  said  St.  Antony. 
"Come,  St.  Peter,  in  memory  of  our  game  of  golf,  let 
him  in  with  his  souls.  Besides,  he  has  had  his  purga- 
tory on  earth." 

"It  is  not  a  very  good  precedent,"  murmured  St. 
Peter. 

"Bah!"  replied  Roger,  "if  we  have  a  few  good  golfers 
in  paradise,  where  is  the  harm?" 


[220] 


THE     devil's     round 


XV 

Thus,  after  having  lived  long,  golfed  much  and  drunk 
many  cans  of  beer,  the  wheelwright  of  Coq  called  the 
Great  Golfer  was  admitted  to  paradise;  but  I  advise  no 
one  to  copy  him,  for  it  is  not  quite  the  right  way  to  go, 
and  St.  Peter  might  not  always  be  so  compliant,  though 
great  allowances  must  be  made  for  golfers. 


[221] 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONT  ST.-MICHEL 
BY    GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT 

I  had  first  seen  it  from  Cancale,  this  fairy  castle  in  the 
sea.  I  got  an  indistinct  impression  of  it  as  of  a  grey- 
shadow  outlined  against  the  misty  sky.  I  saw  it  again 
from  Avranches  at  sunset.  The  immense  stretch  of  sand 
was  red,  the  horizon  was  red,  the  whole  boundless  bay 
was  red.  The  rocky  castle  rising  out  there  in  the  dis- 
tance like  a  weird,  seignorial  residence,  like  a  dream 
palace,  strange  and  beautiful — this  alone  remained 
black  in  the  crimson  light  of  the  dying  day. 

The  following  morning  at  dawn  I  went  toward  it 
across. the  sands,  my  eyes  fastened  on  this  gigantic  jewel, 
as  big  as  a  mountain,  cut  like  a  cameo,  and  as  dainty  as 
lace.  The  nearer  I  approached  the  greater  my  admira- 
tion grew,  for  nothing  in  the  world  could  be  more  won- 
derful or  more  perfect. 

As  surprised  as  if  I  had  discovered  the  habitation  of 
a  god,  I  wandered  through  those  halls  supported  by  frail 
or  massive  columns,  raising  my  eyes  in  wonder  to  those 
spires  which  looked  like  rockets  starting  for  the  sky, 
and  to  that  marvellous  assemblage  of  towers,  of  gar- 
goyles, of  slender  and  charming  ornaments,  a  regular 
fireworks  of  stone,  granite  lace,  a  masterpiece  of  colossal 
and  delicate  architecture. 

As  I  was  looking  up  in  ecstasy  a  Lower  Normandy 
[222] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONT  S  T-  MICHEL 

peasant  came  up  to  me  and  told  me  the  story  of  the 
great  quarrel  between  Saint  Michael  and  the  devil. 

A  sceptical  genius  has  said:  "God  made  man  in  his 
image  and  man  has  returned  the  compliment." 

This  saying  is  an  eternal  truth,  and  it  would  be  very 
curious  to  write  the  history  of  the  local  divinity  of  every 
continent,  as  well  as  the  history  of  the  patron  saints  in 
each  one  of  our  provinces.  The  negro  has  his  fero- 
cious man-eating  idols;  the  polygamous  Mahometan 
fills  his  paradise  with  women;  the  Greeks,  like  a  prac- 
tical people,  deified  all  the  passions. 
^  Every  village  in  France  is  under  the  influence  of  some 
protecting  saint,  modelled  according  to  the  characteristics 
of  the  inhabitants. 

Saint  Michael  watches  over  Lower  Normandy,  Saint 
Michael,  the  radiant  and  victorious  angel,  the  sword- 
carrier,  the  hero  of  Heaven,  the  victorious,  the  con- 
queror of  Satan. 

But  this  is  how  the  Lower  Normandy  peasant,  cun- 
ning, deceitful  and  tricky,  understands  and  tells  of  the 
struggle  between  the  great  saint  and  the  devil. 

To  escape  from  the  malice  of  his  neighbour,  the  devil. 
Saint  Michael  built  himself,  in  the  open  ocean,  this 
habitation  worthy  of  an  archangel;  and  only  such  a 
saint  could  build  a  residence  of  such  magnificence. 

But,  as  he  still  feared  the  approaches  of  the  wicked 
one,  he  surrounded  his  domains  by  quicksands,  more 
treacherous  even  than  the  sea. 

The  devil  lived  in  a  humble  cottage  on  the  hill,  but  he 
owned  all  the  salt  marshes,  the  rich  lands  where  grow 
the  finest  crops,  the  wooded  valleys  and  all  the  fertile 

[223] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


hills  of  the  country,  while  the  saint  ruled  only  over  the 
sands.  Therefore  Satan  was  rich,  whereas  Saint 
Michael  was  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse. 

After  a  few  years  of  fasting  the  saint  grew  tired  of 
this  state  of  affairs  and  began  to  think  of  some  compro- 
mise with  the  devil,  but  the  matter  was  by  no  means 
easy,  as  Satan  kept  a  good  hold  on  his  crops. 

He  thought  the  thing  over  for  about  six  months;  then 
one  morning  he  walked  across  to  the  shore.  The  demon 
was  eating  his  soup  in  front  of  his  door  when  he  saw  the 
saint.  He  immediately  rushed  toward  him,  kissed  the 
hem  of  his  sleeve,  invited  him  in  and  offered  him  re- 
freshments. 

Saint  Michael  drank  a  bowl  of  milk  and  then  began: 
"I  have  come  here  to  propose  to  you  a  good  bargain." 

The  devil,  candid  and  trustful,  answered:  "That 
will  suit  me." 

"Here  it  is.     Give  me  all  your  lands." 

Satan,  growing  alarmed,  wished  to  speak:     "But — " 

The  saint  continued:  "Listen  first.  Give  me  all 
your  lands.  I  will  take  care  of  all  the  work,  the  plough- 
ing, the  sowing,  the  fertilizing,  everything,  and  we  will 
share  the  crops  equally.     How  does  that  suit  you?" 

The  devil,  who  was  naturally  lazy,  accepted.  He 
only  demanded  in  addition  a  few  of  those  delicious  grey 
mullet  which  are  caught  around  the  solitary  mount. 
Saint  Michael  promised  the  fish. 

They  grasped  hands  and  spat  on  the  ground  to  show 
that  it  was  a  bargain,  and  the  saint  continued:  "See 
here,  so  that  you  will  have  nothing  to  complain  of, 
choose  that  part  of  the  crops  which  you  prefer:  the  part 

[224] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONT  ST.- MICHEL 

that  grows  above  ground  or  the  part  that  stays  in  the 
ground."  Satan  cried  out:  "I  will  take  all  that  will 
be  above  ground." 

"It's  a  bargain!"  said  the  saint.     And  he  went  away. 

Six  months  later,  all  over  the  immense  domain  of 
the  devil,  one  could  see  nothing  but  carrots,  turnips, 
onions,  salsify,  all  the  plants  whose  juicy  roots  are  good 
and  savoury  and  whose  useless  leaves  are  good  for  noth- 
ing but  for  feeding  animals. 

Satan  wished  to  break  the  contract,  calling  Saint 
Michael  a  swindler. 

But  the  saint,  who  had  developed  quite  a  taste  for 
agriculture,  went  back  to  see  the  devil  and  said: 
"Really,  I  hadn't  thought  of  that  at  all;  it  was  just  an 
accident,  no  fault  of  mine.  And  to  make  things  fair 
with  you,  this  year  I'll  let  you  take  everything  that  is 
under  the  ground." 

"Very  well,"  answered  Satan. 

The  following  spring  all  the  evil  spirit's  lands  were 
covered  with  golden  wheat,  oats  as  big  as  beans,  flax, 
magnificent  colza,  red  clover,  peas,  cabbage,  artichokes, 
everything  that  develops  into  grains  or  fruit  in  the  sun- 
light. 

Once  more  Satan  received  nothing,  and  this  time  he 
completely  lost  his  temper.  He  took  back  his  fields  and 
remained  deaf  to  all  the  fresh  propositions  of  his 
neighbour. 

A  whole  year  rolled  by.  From  the  top  of  his  lonely 
manor  Saint  Michael  looked  at  the  distant  and  fertile 
lands  and  watched  the  devil  direct  the  work,  take  in  his 
crops  and  thresh  the  wheat.     And  he  grew  angry,  ex- 

[225] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


asperated  at  his  powerlessness.  As  he  was  no  longer 
able  to  deceive  Satan,  he  decided  to  wreak  vengeance  on 
him,  and  he  went  out  to  invite  him  to  dinner  for  the  fol- 
lowing Monday. 

"You  have  been  very  unfortunate  in  your  dealings 
with  me,"  he  said;  "I  know  it,  but  I  don't  want  any  ill 
feeling  between  us,  and  I  expect  you  to  dine  with  me. 
I'll  give  you  some  good  things  to  eat." 

Satan,  who  was  as  greedy  as  he  was  lazy,  accepted 
eagerly.  On  the  day  appointed  he  donned  his  finest 
clothes  and  set  out  for  the  castle. 

Saint  Michael  sat  him  down  to  a  magnificent  meal. 
First  there  was  a  vol-au-vent,  full  of  cocks'  crests  and 
kidneys,  with  meat-balls,  then  two  big  grey  mullet  with 
cream  sauce,  a  turkey  stuffed  with  chestnuts  soaked 
in  wine,  some  salt-marsh  lamb  as  tender  as  cake,  vege- 
tables which  melted  in  the  mouth  and  nice  hot  pancake 
which  was  brought  on  smoking  and  spreading  a  de- 
licious odour  of  butter. 

They  drank  new,  sweet,  sparkling  cider  and  heady 
red  wine,  and  after  each  course  they  whetted  their  ap- 
petites with  some  old  apple  brandy. 

The  devil  drank  and  ate  to  his  heart's  content;  in 
fact  he  took  so  much  that  he  was  very  uncomfortable, 
and  began  to  retch. 

Then  Saint  Michael  arose  in  anger  and  cried  in  a 
voice  like  thunder:  "What!  before  me,  rascal!  You 
dare — before  me — " 

Satan,  terrified,  ran  away,  and  the  saint,  seizing  a 
stick,  pursued  him.  They  ran  through  the  halls,  turn- 
ing round  the  pillars,  running  up  the  staircases,  gal- 

[226] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONT  S  T-  MICHEL 

loping  along  the  cornices,  jumping  from  gargoyle  to 
gargoyle.  The  poor  devil,  who  was  woefully  ill,  was 
running  about  madly  and  trying  hard  to  escape.  At 
last  he  found  himself  at  the  top  of  the  last  terrace,  right 
at  the  top,  from  which  could  be  seen  the  immense  bay, 
with  its  distant  towns,  sands  and  pastures.  He  could  no 
longer  escape,  and  the  saint  came  up  behind  him  and 
gave  him  a  furious  kick,  which  shot  him  through  space 
like  a  cannon-ball. 

He  shot  through  the  air  like  a  javelin  and  fell  heavily 
before  the  town  of  Mortain.  His  horns  and  claws  stuck 
deep  into  the  rock,  which  keeps  through  eternity  the 
traces  of  this  fall  of  Satan. 

He  stood  up  again,  limping,  crippled  until  the  end 
of  time,  and  as  he  looked  at  this  fatal  castle  in  the  dis- 
tance, standing  out  against  the  setting  sun,  he  under- 
stood well  that  he  would  always  be  vanquished  in  this 
unequal  struggle,  and  he  went  away  limping,  heading 
for  distant  countries,  leaving  to  his  enemy  his  fields,  his 
hills,  his  valleys  and  his  marshes. 

And  this  is  how  Saint  Michael,  the  patron  saint  of 
Normandy,  vanauished  the  devil. 

Another  people  would  have  dreamed  of  this  battle  in 
an  entirely  different  manner. 


[227] 


THE   DEMON   POPE^ 
BY    RICHARD    GARNETT 

"So  you  won't  sell  me  your  soul?"  said  the  devil. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  student,  "I  had  rather  keep 
it  myself,  if  it's  all  the  same  to  you." 

"But  it's  not  all  the  same  to  me.  I  want  it  very  par- 
ticularly. Come,  I'll  be  liberal.  I  said  twenty  years. 
You  can  have  thirty." 

The  student  shook  his  head. 

"Forty!" 

Another  shake. 

"Fifty!" 

As  before. 

"Now,"  said  the  deviL  "I  know  I'm  going  to  do  a 
foolish  thing,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  see  a  clever,  spirited 
young  man  throw  himself  away.  I'll  make  you  another 
kind  of  offer.  We  don't  have  any  bargain  at  present, 
but  I  will  push  you  on  in  the  world  for  the  next  forty 
years.  This  day  forty  years  I  come  back  and  ask  you 
for  a  boon;  not  your  soul,  mind,  or  anything  not  per- 
fectly in  your  power  to  grant.  If  you  give  it,  we  are 
quits;  if  not,  I  fly  away  with  you.  What  say  you  to 
this?" 

The  student  reflected  for  some  minutes.  "Agreed," 
he  said  at  last. 

1  Taken  by  permission  from   The  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  by  Richard 
Garaett.    Published  by  John  Lane  Co.,  New  York. 

[2281 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


Scarcely  had  the  devil  disappeared,  which  he  did  in- 
stantaneously, ere  a  messenger  reined  in  his  smoking 
steed  at  the  gate  of  the  University  of  Cordova  (the  judi- 
cious reader  will  already  have  remarked  that  Lucifer 
could  never  have  been  allowed  inside  a  Christian  seat  of 
learning),  and,  inquiring  for  the  student  Gerbert,  pre- 
sented him  with  the  Emperor  Otho's  nomination  to  the 
Abbacy  of  Bobbio,  in  consideration,  said  the  document, 
of  his  virtue  and  learning,  wellnigh  miraculous  in  one  so 
young.  Such  messengers  were  frequent  visitors  during 
Gerbert's  prosperous  career.  Abbot,  bishop,  arch- 
bishop, cardinal,  he  was  ultimately  enthroned  Pope  on 
April  2,  999,  and  assumed  the  appellation  of  Silvester 
the  Second.  It  was  then  a  general  belief  that  the  world 
would  come  to  an  end  in  the  following  year,  a  catas- 
trophe which  to  many  seemed  the  more  imminent  from 
the  election  of  a  chief  pastor  whose  celebrity  as  a  theo- 
logian, though  not  inconsiderable,  by  no  means  equalled 
his  reputation  as  a  necromancer. 

The  world,  notwithstanding,  revolved  scatheless 
through  the  dreaded  twelvemonth,  and  early  in  the  first 
year  of  the  eleventh  century  Gerbert  was  sitting  peace- 
fully in  his  study,  perusing  a  book  of  magic.  Volumes 
of  algebra,  astrology,  alchemy,  Aristotelian  philosophy, 
and  other  such  light  reading  filled  his  bookcase;  and  on 
a  table  stood  an  improved  clock  of  his  invention,  next  to 
his  introduction  of  the  Arabic  numerals  his  chief  legacy 
to  posterity.  Suddenly  a  sound  of  wings  was  heard, 
and  Lucifer  stood  by  his  side. 

"It  is  a  long  time,"  said  the  fiend,  "since  I  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.     I  have  now  called  to  re- 

[229] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


mind  you  of  our  little  contract,  concluded  this  day  forty 
years." 

"You  remember,"  said  Silvester,  "that  you  are  not  to 
ask  anything  exceeding  my  power  to  perform." 

"I  have  no  such  intention,"  said  Lucifer.  "On  the 
contrary,  I  am  about  to  solicit  a  favour  which  can  be 
bestowed  by  you  alone.  You  are  Pope,  I  desire  that 
you  would  make  me  a  Cardinal." 

"In  the  expectation,  I  presume,"  returned  Gerbert, 
"of  becoming  Pope  on  the  next  vacancy." 

"An  expectation,"  replied  Lucifer,  "which  I  may 
most  reasonablv  entertain,  considering  my  enormous 
wealth,  my  proficiency  in  intrigue,  and  the  present  con- 
dition of  the  Sacred  College." 

"You  would  doubtless,"  said  Gerbert,  "endeavour  to 
subvert  the  foundations  of  the  Faith,  and,  bv  a  course  of 
profligacy  and  licentiousness,  render  the  Holy  See  odi- 
ous and  contemptible." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  the  fiend,  "I  would  extirpate 
heresy,  and  all  learning  and  knowledge  as  inevitably 
tending  thereunto.  I  would  suffer  no  man  to  read  but 
the  priest,  and  confine  his  reading^  to  his  breviary.  I 
would  burn  your  books  together  with  your  bones  on  the 
first  convenient  opportunity.  I  would  observe  an  aus- 
tere propriety  of  conduct,  and  be  especially  careful  not 
to  loosen  one  rivet  in  the  tremendous  yoke  I  was  forg- 
ing for  the  minds  and  consciences  of  mankind." 

"If  it  be  so,"  said  Gerbert,  "let's  be  off!" 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lucifer,  "you  are  willing  to  ac- 
company me  to  the  infernal  regions!" 

"Assuredly,  rather  than  be  accessory  to  the  burning 
[230] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  and  give  place  to  the  dark- 
ness against  which  I  have  been  contending  all  my 
life." 

"Gerbert,"  replied  the  demon,  "this  is  arrant  trifling. 
Know  you  not  that  no  good  man  can  enter  my  domin- 
ions? that,  were  such  a  thing  possible,  my  empire  would 
become  intolerable  to  me,  and  I  should  be  compelled  to 
abdicate?" 

"I  do  know  it,"  said  Gerbert,  "and  hence  I  have  been 
able  to  receive  your  visit  with  composure." 

"Gerbert,"  said  the  devil,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "I 
put  it  to  you — is  this  fair,  is  this  honest?  I  undertake 
to  promote  your  interests  in  the  world ;  I  fulfil  my  prom- 
ise abundantly.  You  obtain  through  my  instrumental- 
ity a  position  to  which  you  could  never  otherwise  have 
aspired.  Often  have  I  had  a  hand  in  the  election  of  a 
Pope,  but  never  before  have  I  contributed  to  confer  the 
tiara  on  one  eminent  for  virtue  and  learning.  You 
profit  by  my  assistance  to  the  full,  and  now  take  ad- 
vantage of  an  adventitious  circumstance  to  deprive  me  of 
my  reasonable  guerdon.  It  is  my  constant  experience 
that  the  good  people  are  much  more  slippery  than  the 
sinners,  and  drive  much  harder  bargains." 

"Lucifer,"  answered  Gerbert,  "I  have  always  sought 
to  treat  you  as  a  gentleman,  hoping  that  you  would  ap- 
prove yourself  such  in  return.  I  will  not  inquire 
whether  it  was  entirely  in  harmony  with  this  character 
to  seek  to  intimidate  me  into  compliance  with  your  de- 
mand by  threatening  me  with  a  penalty  which  you  well 
knew  could  not  be  enforced.  I  will  overlook  this  little 
irregularity,  and  concede  even  more  than  you  have  re- 

[2311 


DEVIL     STORIES 


quested.  You  have  asked  to  be  a  Cardinal.  I  will 
make  you  Pope — " 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  Lucifer,  and  an  internal  glow  suf- 
fused his  sooty  hide,  as  the  light  of  a  fading  ember  is 
revived  by  breathing  upon  it. 

"For  twelve  hours,"  continued  Gerbert.  "At  the  ex- 
piration of  that  time  we  will  consider  the  matter  fur- 
ther; and  if,  as  I  anticipate,  you  are  more  anxious  to 
divest  yourself  of  the  Papal  dignity  than  you  were  to 
assume  it,  I  promise  to  bestow  upon  you  any  boon  you 
may  ask  within  my  power  to  grant,  and  not  plainly  in- 
consistent with  religion  or  morals." 

"Done!"  cried  the  demon.  Gerbert  uttered  some  ca- 
balistic words,  and  in  a  moment  the  apartment  held  two 
Pope  Silvesters,  entirely  indistinguishable  save  by  their 
attire,  and  the  fact  that  one  limped  slightly  with  the  left 
foot. 

"You  will  find  the  Pontifical  apparel  in  this  cup- 
board," said  Gerbert,  and,  taking  his  book  of  magic 
with  him,  he  retreated  through  a  masked  door  to  a  secret 
chamber.  As  the  door  closed  behind  him  he  chuckled, 
and  muttered  to  himself,  "Poor  old  Lucifer!  Sold 
again!" 

If  Lucifer  was  sold  he  did  not  seem  to  know  it.  He 
approached  a  large  slab  of  silver  which  did  duty  as  a 
mirror,  and  contemplated  his  personal  appearance  with 
some  dissatisfaction. 

"I  certainly  don't  look  half  so  well  without  my 
horns,"  he  soliloquized,  "and  I  am  sure  I  shall  miss  my 
tail  most  grievously." 

A  tiara  and  a  train,  however,  made  fair  amends  for 
[232] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


the  deficient  appendages,  and  Lucifer  now  looked  every 
inch  a  Pope.  He  was  about  to  call  the  master  of  the 
ceremonies,  and  summon  a  consistory,  when  the  door 
was  burst  open,  and  seven  cardinals,  brandishing  pon- 
iards, rushed  into  the  room. 

"Down  with  the  sorcerer!"  they  cried,  as  they  seized 
and  gagged  him. 

"Death  to  the  Saracen!" 

"Practises  algebra,  and  other  devilish  arts!" 

"Knows  Greek!" 

"Talks  Arabic!" 

"Reads  Hebrew!" 

"Bum  him!" 

"Smother  him!" 

"Let  him  be  deposed  by  a  general  council,"  said  a 
young  and  inexperienced  Cardinal. 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  an  old  and  wary  one,  sotto 
voce. 

Lucifer  struggled  frantically,  but  the  feeble  frame 
he  was  doomed  to  inhabit  for  the  next  eleven  hours  was 
speedily  exhausted.  Bound  and  helpless,  he  swooned 
away. 

"Brethren,"  said  one  of  the  senior  cardinals,  "it  hath 
been  delivered  by  the  exorcists  that  a  sorcerer  or  other 
individual  in  league  with  the  demon  doth  usually  bear 
upon  his  person  some  visible  token  of  his  infernal  com- 
pact. I  propose  that  we  forthwith  institute  a  search 
for  this  stigma,  the  discovery  of  which  may  contribute 
to  justify  our  proceedings  in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

"I  heartily  approve  of  our  brother  Anno's  proposi- 
tion," said  another,  "the  rather  as  we  cannot  possibly 

[233] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


fail  to  discover  such  a  mark,  if,  indeed,  we  desire  to 
find  it." 

The  search  was  accordingly  instituted,  and  had  not 
proceeded  far  ere  a  simultaneous  yell  from  all  the  seven 
cardinals  indicated  that  their  investigation  had  hrought 
more  light  than  they  had  ventured  to  expect. 

The  Holy  Father  had  a  cloven  foot! 

For  the  next  five  minutes  the  Cardinals  remained  ut- 
terly stunned,  silent,  and  stupefied  with  amazement.  As 
they  gradually  recovered  their  faculties  it  would  have 
become  manifest  to  a  nice  observer  that  the  Pope  had 
risen  very  considerably  in  their  good  opinion. 

"This  is  an  affair  requiring  very  mature  delibera- 
tion," said  one. 

"I  always  feared  that  we  might  be  proceeding  too  pre- 
cipitately," said  another. 

"It  is  written,  'the  devils  believe,' "  said  a  third : 
"the  Holy  Father,  therefore,  is  not  a  heretic  at  any 
rate." 

"Brethren,"  said  Anno,  "this  affair,  as  our  brother 
Benno  well  remarks,  doth  indeed  call  for  mature  de- 
liberation. I  therefore  propose  that,  instead  of  smoth- 
ering his  Holiness  with  cushions,  as  originally  con- 
ten^plated,  we  immure  him  for  the  present  in  the  dun- 
geon adioining  hereunto,  and,  after  spending^  the  night 
in  meditation  and  prayer,  resume  the  consideration  of 
the  business  tomorrow  morning." 

"Informing^  the  officials  of  the  palace,"  said  Benno, 
"that  his  Holiness  has  retired  for  his  devotions,  and  de- 
sires on  no  account  to  be  disturbed." 

"A  pious  fraud,"  said  Anno,  "which  not  one  of  the 
[234] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


Fathers  would  for  a  moment  have  scrupled  to  commit." 
The  Cardinals  accordingly  lifted  the  still  insensible 
Lucifer,  and  bore  him  carefully,  almost  tenderly,  to  the 
apartment  appointed  for  his  detention.  Each  would 
fain  have  lingered  in  hopes  of  his  recovery,  but  each 
felt  that  the  eyes  of  his  six  brethren  were  upon  him: 
and  all,  therefore,  retired  simultaneously,  each  taking  a 
key  of  the  cell. 

Lucifer  regained  consciousness  almost  immediately 
afterwards.  He  had  the  most  confused  idea  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  had  involved  him  in  his  present 
scrape,  and  could  only  say  to  himself  that  if  they  were 
the  usual  concomitants  of  the  Papal  dignity,  these  were 
by  no  means  to  his  taste,  and  he  wished  he  had  been 
made  acquainted  with  them  sooner.  The  dungeon  was 
not  only  perfectly  dark,  but  horribly  cold,  and  the  poor 
devil  in  his  present  form  had  no  latent  store  of  infernal 
heat  to  draw  upon.  His  teeth  chattered,  he  shivered  in 
every  limb,  and  felt  devoured  with  hunger  and  thirst. 
There  is  much  probability  in  the  assertion  of  some  of 
his  biographers  that  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  he 
invented  ardent  spirits;  but,  even  if  he  did,  the  mere 
conception  of  a  glass  of  brandy  could  only  increase  his 
sufferings.  So  the  long  January  night  wore  wearily 
on,  and  Lucifer  seemed  likely  to  expire  from  inanition, 
when  a  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  Cardinal  Anno  cau- 
tiously glided  in,  bearing  a  lamp,  a  loaf,  half  a  cold 
roast  kid,  and  a  bottle  of  wine. 

"I  trust,"  he  said,  bowing  courteously,  "that  I  may 
be  excused  any  slight  breach  of  etiquette  of  which  I  may 
render  myself  culpable  from  the  difficulty  under  which 

[235] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


I  labour  of  determining  whether,  under  present  circum- 
stances, 'Your  Holiness,'  or  'Your  infernal  Majesty'  be 
the  form  of  address  most  befitting  me  to  employ." 

"Bub-ub-bub-boo,"  went  Lucifer,  who  still  had  the 
gag  in  his  mouth. 

"Heavens!"  exclaimed  the  Cardinal,  "I  crave  your 
Infernal  Holiness's  forgiveness.  What  a  lamentable 
oversight!" 

And,  relieving  Lucifer  from  his  gag  and  bonds,  he 
set  out  the  refection,  upon  which  the  demon  fell  vo- 
raciously. 

"Why  the  devil,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,"  pur- 
sued Anno,  "did  not  your  Holiness  inform  us  that  you 
were  the  devil?  Not  a  hand  would  then  have  been 
raised  against  you.  I  have  myself  been  seeking  all  my 
life  for  the  audience  now  happily  vouchsafed  me. 
Whence  this  mistrust  of  your  faithful  Anno,  who  has 
served  you  so  loyally  and  zealously  these  many  years?" 

Lucifer  pointed  significantly  to  the  gag  and  fetters. 

"I  shall  never  forgive  myself,"  protested  the  Cardi- 
nal, "for  the  part  I  have  borne  in  this  unfortunate 
transaction.  Next  to  ministering  to  your  Majesty's  bod- 
ily necessities,  there  is  nothing  I  have  so  much  at  heart 
as  to  express  my  penitence.  But  I  entreat  your  Majesty 
to  remember  that  I  believed  myself  to  be  acting  in  your 
Majesty's  interest  by  overthrowing  a  magician  who  was 
accustomed  to  send  your  Majesty  upon  errands,  and  who 
might  at  any  time  enclose  you  in  a  box,  and  cast  you 
into  the  sea.  It  is  deplorable  that  your  Majesty's  most 
devoted  servants  should  have  been  thus  misled." 

"Reasons  of  State,"  suggested  Lucifer. 
[236] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


"I  trust  that  they  no  longer  operate,"  said  the  Car- 
dinal. "However,  the  Sacred  College  is  now  fully  pos- 
sessed of  the  whole  matter:  it  is  therefore  unnecessary 
to  pursue  this  department  of  the  subject  further.  I 
would  now  humbly  crave  leave  to  confer  with  your  Maj- 
esty, or  rather,  perhaps,  your  Holiness,  since  I  am  about 
to  speak  of  spiritual  things,  on  the  important  and  deli- 
cate point  of  your  Holiness's  successor.  I  am  ignorant 
how  long  your  Holiness  proposes  to  occupy  the  Apostolic 
chair;  but  of  course  you  are  aware  that  public  opinion 
will  not  suffer  you  to  hold  it  for  a  term  exceeding  that 
of  the  pontificate  of  Peter.  A  vacancy,  therefore,  must 
one  day  occur;  and  I  am  humbly  to  represent  that  the 
office  could  not  be  filled  by  one  more  congenial  than 
myself  to  the  present  incumbent,  or  on  whom  he  could 
more  fully  rely  to  carry  out  in  every  respect  his  views 
and  intentions." 

And  the  Cardinal  proceeded  to  detail  various  circum- 
stances of  his  past  life,  which  certainly  seemed  to  cor- 
roborate his  assertion.  He  had  not,  however,  proceeded 
far  ere  he  was  disturbed  by  the  grating  of  another  key  in 
the  lock,  and  had  just  time  to  whisper  impressively, 
"Beware  of  Benno,"  ere  he  dived  under  a  table. 

Benno  was  also  provided  with  a  lamp,  wine,  and  cold 
viands.  Warned  by  the  other  lamp  and  the  remains  of 
Lucifer's  repast  that  some  colleague  had  been  before- 
hand with  him,  and  not  knowing  how  many  more  might 
be  in  the  field,  he  came  briefly  to  the  point  as  regarded 
the  Papacy,  and  preferred  his  claim  in  much  the  same 
manner  as  Anno.  While  he  was  earnestly  cautioning 
Lucifer  against  this  Cardinal  as  one  who  could  and 

[237] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


would  cheat  the  very  Devil  himself,  another  key  turned 
in  the  lock,  and  Benno  escaped  under  the  table,  where 
Anno  immediately  inserted  his  fingers  into  his  right  eye. 
The  little  squeal  consequent  upon  this  occurrence  Luci- 
fer successfully  smothered  by  a  fit  of  coughing. 

Cardinal  No.  3,  a  Frenchman,  bore  a  Bayonne  ham, 
and  exhibited  the  same  disgust  as  Benno  on  seeing  him- 
self forestalled.  So  far  as  his  requests  transpired  they 
were  moderate,  but  no  one  knows  where  he  would  have 
stopped  if  he  had  not  been  scared  by  the  advent  of  Car- 
dinal No.  4.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  only  asked  for  an 
inexhaustible  purse,  power  to  call  up  the  Devil  ad 
libitum,  and  a  ring  of  invisibility  to  allow  him  free  ac- 
cess to  his  mistress,  who  was  unfortunately  a  married 
woman. 

Cardinal  No.  4  chiefly  wanted  to  be  put  into  the  way 
of  poisoning  Cardinal  No.  5;  and  Cardinal  No.  5  pre- 
ferred the  same  petition  as  respected  Cardinal  No.  4. 

Cardinal  No.  6,  an  Englishman,  demanded  the  re- 
version of  the  Archbishoprics  of  Canterbury  and  York, 
with  the  faculty  of  holding  them  together,  and  of  un- 
limited non-residence.  In  the  course  of  his  harangue 
he  made  use  of  the  phrase  non  obstantibus,  of  which 
Lucifer  immediately  took  a  note. 

What  the  seventh  Cardinal  would  have  solicited  is 
not  known,  for  he  had  hardly  opened  his  mouth  when 
the  twelfth  hour  expired,  and  Lucifer,  regaining  his 
vigour  with  his  shape,  sent  the  Prince  of  the  Church 
spinning  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  split  the 
marble  table  with  a  single  stroke  of  his  tail.     The  six 

[238] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


crouched  and  huddling  Cardinals  cowered  revealed  to 
one  another,  and  at  the  same  time  enjoyed  the  spectacle 
of  his  Holiness  darting  through  the  stone  ceiling,  which 
yielded  like  a  film  to  his  passage,  and  closed  up  after- 
wards as  if  nothing  had  happened.  After  the  first  shock 
of  dismay  they  unanimously  rushed  to  the  door,  but 
found  it  bolted  on  the  outside.  There  was  no  other 
exit,  and  no  means  of  giving  an  alarm.  In  this  emer- 
gency the  demeanour  of  the  Italian  Cardinals  set  a 
hri2;ht  example  to  their  ultramontane  colleagues. 
''Bisogna  pazienzia,"  they  said,  as  they  shrug2;ed  their 
shoulders.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  mutual  polite- 
ness of  Cardinals  Anno  and  Benno,  unless  that  of  the 
two  who  had  sought  to  poison  each  other.  The  French- 
man was  held  to  have  gravely  derogated  from  good  man- 
ners by  alluding  to  this  circumstance,  which  had  reached 
his  ears  while  he  was  under  the  table:  and  the  English- 
man swore  so  outrageously  at  the  plight  in  which  he 
found  himself  that  the  Italians  then  and  there  silently 
registered  a  vow  that  none  of  his  nation  should  ever  be 
Pope,  a  maxim  which,  with  one  exception,  has  been  ob- 
served to  this  day. 

Lucifer,  meanwhile,  had  repaired  to  Silvester,  whom 
be  found  arrayed  in  all  the  insignia  of  his  disunity;  of 
which,  as  he  remarked,  he  thought  his  visitor  had  prob- 
ably had  enough. 

"I  should  think  so  indeed,"  replied  Lucifer.  "But 
at  the  same  time  I  feel  myself  fully  repaid  for  all  I 
have  undergone  by  the  assurance  of  the  loyalty  of  my 
friends  and  admirers,  and  the  conviction  that  it  is  need- 

[239] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


less  for  me  to  devote  any  considerable  amount  of  per- 
sonal attention  to  ecclesiastical  affairs.  I  now  claim  the 
promised  boon,  which  it  will  be  in  no  way  inconsistent 
with  thy  functions  to  grant,  seeing  that  it  is  a  work  of 
mercy.  I  demand  that  the  Cardinals  be  released,  and 
that  their  conspiracy  against  thee,  by  which  I  alone  suf- 
fered, bq  buried  in  oblivion." 

"I  hoped  you  would  carry  them  all  off,"  said  Gerbert, 
with  an  expression  of  disappointment. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Devil.  "It  is  more  to  my  in- 
terest to  leave  them  where  they  are." 

So  the  dungeon-door  was  unbolted,  and  the  Cardinals 
came  forth,  sheepish  and  crestfallen.  If,  after  all, 
they  did  less  mischief  than  Lucifer  had  expected  from 
them,  the  cause  was  their  entire  bewilderment  by  what 
had  passed,  and  their  utter  inability  to  penetrate  the  pol- 
icy of  Gerbert,  who  henceforth  devoted  himself  even  with 
ostentation  to  good  works.  They  could  never  quite  sat- 
isfy themselves  whether  they  were  speaking  to  the  Pope 
or  to  the  Devil,  and  when  under  the  latter  impression 
habitually  emitted  propositions  which  Gerbert  justly 
stigmatized  as  rash,  temerarious,  and  scandalous. 
They  plagued  him  with  allusions  to  certain  matters  men- 
tioned in  their  interviews  with  Lucifer,  with  which  they 
naturally  but  erroneously  supposed  him  to  be  conver- 
sant, and  worried  him  by  continual  nods  and  titterings 
as  they  glanced  at  his  nether  extremities.  To  abolish 
this  nuisance,  and  at  the  same  time  silence  sundry  un- 
pleasant rumours  which  had  somehow  got  abroad,  Ger- 
bert devised  the  ceremony  of  kissing  the  Pope's  feet, 
which,  in  a  grievously  mutilated  form,  endures  to  this 

[240] 


THE     DEMON     POPE 


day.  The  stupefaction  of  the  Cardinals  on  discovering 
that  the  Holy  Father  had  lost  his  hoof  surpasses  all  de- 
scription, and  they  went  to  their  graves  without  hav- 
ing obtained  the  least  insight  into  the  mystery. 


[241] 


MADAM   LUCIFER^ 
BY    RICHARD    GARNETT 

Lucifer  sat  playing  chess  with  Man  for  his  soul. 

The  game  was  evidently  going  ill  for  Man.  He  had 
but  pawns  left,  few  and  struggling.  Lucifer  had  rooks, 
knights,  and,  of  course,  bishops. 

It  was  but  natural  under  such  circumstances  that  Man 
should  be  in  no  great  hurry  to  move.  Lucifer  grew  im- 
patient. 

"It  is  a  pity,"  said  he  at  last,  "that  we  did  not  fix 
some  period  within  which  the  player  must  move,  or  re- 
sign." 

"Oh,  Lucifer,"  returned  the  young  man,  in  heart- 
rending accents,  "it  is  not  the  impending  loss  of  my 
soul  that  thus  unmans  me,  but  the  loss  of  my  betrothed. 
When  I  think  of  the  grief  of  the  Lady  Adeliza,  the  par- 
agon of  terrestrial  loveliness!"  Tears  choked  his  ut- 
terance; Lucifer  was  touched. 

"Is  the  Lady  Adeliza's  loveliness  in  sooth  so  transcen- 
dent?" he  inquired. 

"She  is  a  rose,  a  lily,  a  diamond,  a  morning  star!" 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  rejoined  Lucifer,  "thou  mayest 
reassure  thyself.  The  Lady  Adeliza  shall  not  want  for 
consolation.  I  will  assume  thy  shape  and  woo  her  in 
thy  stead." 

1  Taken  by  permission  from  The  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  by  Richard 
Garnett.     Published  by  John  Lane  Co.,  New  York. 

[242] 


MADAM     LUCIFER 


The  young  man  hardly  seemed  to  receive  all  the  com- 
fort from  this  promise  which  Lucifer  no  doubt  designed. 
He  made  a  desperate  move.  In  an  instant  the  Devil 
checkmated  him,  and  he  disappeared. 

"Upon  my  word,  if  I  had  known  what  a  business  this 
was  going  to  be,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  gone  in  for 
it,"  soliloquized  the  Devil  as,  wearing  his  captive's  sem- 
blance and  installed  in  his  apartments,  he  surveyed  the 
effects  to  which  he  now  had  to  administer.  They  in- 
cluded coats,  shirts,  collars,  neckties,  foils,  cigars,  and 
the  like  ad  libitum;  and  very  little  else  except  three 
challenges,  ten  writs,  and  seventy-four  unpaid  bills,  ele- 
gantly disposed  around  the  looking-glass.  To  the  poor 
youth's  praise  be  it  said,  there  were  no  billets-doux,  ex- 
cept from  the  Lady  Adeliza  herself. 

Noting  the  address  of  these  carefully,  the  Devil  sal- 
lied forth,  and  nothing  but  his  ignorance  of  the  topog- 
raphy of  the  hotel,  which  made  him  take  the  back 
stairs,  saved  him  from  the  clutches  of  two  bailiffs  lurk- 
ing on  the  principal  staircase.  Leaping  into  a  cab,  he 
thus  escaped  a  perfumer  and  a  bootmaker,  and  shortly 
found  himself  at  the  Lady  Adeliza's  feet. 

The  truth  had  not  been  half  told  him.  Such  beauty, 
such  wit,  such  correctness  of  principle!  ,  Lucifer  went 
forth  from  her  presence  a  love-sick  fiend.  Not  Merlin's 
mother  had  produced  half  the  impression  upon  him; 
and  Adeliza  on  her- part  had  never  found  her  lover  one- 
hundredth  part  so  interesting  as  he  seemed  that  morn- 
ing. 

Lucifer  proceeded  at  once  to  the  City,  where,  assum- 
[243] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


ing  his  proper  shape  for  the  occasion,  he  negotiated  a 
loan  without  the  smallest  difficulty.  All  debts  were 
promptly  discharged,  and  Adeliza  was  astonished  at  the 
splendour  and  variety  of  the  presents  she  was  con- 
stantly receiving. 

Lucifer  had  all  but  brought  her  to  name  the  day, 
when  he  was  informed  that  a  gentleman  of  clerical  ap- 
pearance desired  to  wait  upon  him. 

"Wants  money  for  a  new  church  or  mission,  I  sup- 
pose," said  he.     "Show  him  up." 

But  when  the  visitor  was  ushered  in,  Lucifer  found 
with  discomposure  that  he  was  no  earthly  clergyman, 
but  a  celestial  saint;  a  saint,  too,  with  whom  Lucifer  had 
never  been  able  to  get  on.  He  had  served  in  the  army 
while  on  earth,  and  his  address  was  curt,  precise,  and 
peremptory. 

"I  have  called,"  he  said,  "to  notify  to  you  my  appoint- 
ment as  Inspector  of  Devils." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Lucifer,  in  consternation.  "To 
the  post  of  my  old  friend  Michael!" 

"Too  old,"  said  the  Saint  laconically.  "Millions  of 
years  older  than  the  world.     About  your  age,  I  think." 

Lucifer  winced,  remembering  the  particular  business 
he  was  then  about.     The  Saint  continued: 

"I  am  a  new  broom,  and  am  expected  to  sweep  clean. 
I  warn  you  that  I  mean  to  be  strict,  and  there  is  one 
little  matter  which  I  must  set  right  immediately.  You 
are  going  to  marry  that  poor  young  fellow's  betrothed, 
are  you?  Now  you  know  you  can  not  take  his  wife, 
unless  you  give  him  yours." 

"Oh,  my  dear  friend,"  exclaimed  Lucifer,  "what  an 
[244] 


MADAM     LUCIFER 


inexpressibly  blissful  prospect  you  do  open  unto  me!" 

"I  don't  know  that,"  said  the  Saint.  "I  must  re- 
mind you  that  the  dominion  of  the  infernal  regions  is 
unalterably  attached  to  the  person  of  the  present  Queen 
thereof.  If  you  part  with  her  you  immediately  lose 
all  your  authority  and  possessions.  I  don't  care  a  brass 
button  which  you  do,  but  you  must  understand  that  you 
cannot  eat  your  cake  and  have  it  too.     Good  morning!" 

Who  shall  describe  the  conflict  in  Lucifer's  bosom? 
If  any  stronger  passion  existed  therein  at  that  moment 
than  attachment  to  Adeliza,  it  was  aversion  to  his  con- 
sort, and  the  two  combined  were  wellnigh  irresistible. 
But  to  disenthrone  himself,  to  descend  to  the  condition 
of  a  poor  devil! 

Feeling  himself  incapable  of  coming  to  a  decision,  he 
sent  for  Belial,  unfolded  the  matter,  and  requested  his 
advice. 

"What  a  shame  that  our  new  inspector  will  not  let 
you  marry  Adeliza!"  lamented  his  counsellor.  "If  you 
did,  my  private  opinion  is  that  forty-eight  hours  after- 
wards you  would  care  just  as  much  for  her  as  you  do 
now  for  Madam  Lucifer,  neither  more  nor  less.  Are 
your  intentions  really  honourable?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucifer,  "it  is  to  be  a  Lucifer  match." 

"The  more  fool  you,"  rejoined  Belial.  "If  you 
tempted  her  to  commit  a  sin,  she  would  be  yours  without 
any  conditions  at  all." 

"Oh,  Belial,"  said  Lucifer,  "I  cannot  bring  myself  to 
be  a  tempter  of  so  much  innocence  and  loveliness." 

And  he  meant  what  he  said. 

"Well  then,  let  me  try,"  proposed  Belial. 
[245] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"You?"  replied  Lucifer  contemptuously;  "do  you 
imagine  that  Adeliza  would  look  at  you? 

"Why  not?"  asked  Belial,  surveying  himself  com- 
placently in  the  glass. 

He  was  humpbacked,  squinting,  and  lame,  and  his 
horns  stood  up  under  his  wig. 

The  discussion  ended  in  a  wager:  after  which  there 
was  no  retreat  for  Lucifer. 

The  infernal  lachimo  was  introduced  to  Adeliza  as  a 
distinguished  foreigner,  and  was  soon  prosecuting  his 
suit  with  all  the  success  which  Lucifer  had  predicted. 
One  thing  protected  while  it  baffled  him — ^the  entire  in- 
ability of  Adeliza  to  understand  what  he  meant.  At 
length  he  was  constrained  to  make  the  matter  clear  by 
producing  an  enormous  treasure,  which  he  offered 
Adeliza  in  exchange  for  the  abandonment  of  her  lover. 

The  tempest  of  indignation  which  ensued  would  have 
swept  away  any  ordinary  demon,  but  Belial  listened  un- 
moved. When  Adeliza  had  exhausted  herself  he  smil- 
ingly rallied  her  upon  her  affection  for  an  unworthy 
lover,  of  whose  infidelity  he  undertook  to  give  her  proof. 
Frantic  with  jealousy,  Adeliza  consented,  and  in  a  trice 
found  herself  in  the  infernal  regions. 

Adeliza's  arrival  in  Pandemonium,  as  Belial  had 
planned,  occurred  immediately  after  the  receipt  of  a 
message  from  Lucifer,  in  whose  bosom  love  had  finally 
gained  the  victory,  and  who  had  telegraphed  his  ab- 
dication and  resignation  of  Madam  Lucifer  to  Adeliza's 
betrothed.  The  poor  young  man  had  just  been  hauled 
up  from  the  lower  depths,  and  was  beset  by  legions  of 

[246] 


MADAM     LUCIFER 


demons  obsequiously  pressing  all  manner  of  treasures 
upon  his  acceptance.  He  stared,  helpless  and  bewil- 
dered, unable  to  realize  his  position  in  the  smallest 
degree.  In  the  background  grave  and  serious  demons, 
the  princes  of  the  infernal  realm,  discussed  the  new  de- 
parture, and  consulted  especially  how  to  break  it  to 
Madam  Lucifer — a  commission  of  which  no  one 
seemed  ambitious. 

"Stay  where  you  are,"  whispered  Belial  to  Adeliza; 
"stir  not:  you  shall  put  his  constancy  to  the  proof  within 
five  minutes." 

Not  all  the  hustling,  mowing,  and  gibbering  of  the 
fiends  would  under  ordinary  circumstances  have  kept 
Adeliza  from  her  lover's  side:  but  what  is  all  hell  to 
jealousy? 

In  even  less  time  than  he  had  promised,  Belial  re- 
turned, accompanied  by  Madam  Lucifer.  This  lady's 
black  robe,  dripping  with  blood,  contrasted  agreeably 
with  her  complexion  of  sulphurous  yellow;  the  absence 
of  hair  was  compensated  by  the  exceptional  length  of 
her  nails;  she  was  a  thousand  million  years  old,  and, 
but  for  her  remarkable  muscular  vigour,  looked  every 
one  of  them.  The  rage  into  which  Belial's  communi- 
cation had  thrown  her  was  something  indescribable; 
but,  as  her  eye  fell  on  the  handsome  youth,  a  different 
order  of  thoughts  seemed  to  take  possession  of  her 
mind. 

"Let  the  monster  go!"  she  exclaimed;  "who  cares? 
Come,  my  love,  ascend  the  throne  with  me,  and  share 
the  empire  and  the  treasures  of  thy  fond  Luciferetta." 

"If  you  don't,  back  you  go,"  interjected  Belial. 
[247] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


What  might  have  been  the  young  man's  decision  if 
Madam  Lucifer  had  borne  more  resemblance  to  Madam 
Vulcan,  it  would  be  wholly  impertinent  to  inquire,  for 
the  question  never  arose. 

"Take  me  away!"  he  screamed,  "take  me  away,  any- 
where! anywhere  out  of  her  reach!     Oh,  Adeliza!" 

With  a  bound  Adeliza  stood  by  his  side.  She  was 
darting  a  triumphant  glance  at  the  discomfited  Queen  of 
Hell,  when  suddenly  her  expression  changed,  and  she 
screamed  loudly.  Two  adorers  stood  before  her,  alike 
in  every  lineament  and  every  detail  of  costume,  utterly 
indistinguishable,  even  by  the  eye  of  Love. 

Lucifer,  in  fact,  hastening  to  throw  himself  at  Ade- 
liza's  feet  and  pray  her  to  defer  his  bliss  no  longer,  had 
been  thunderstruck  by  the  tidings  of  her  elopement  with 
Belial.  Fearing  to  lose  his  wife  and  his  dominions 
along  with  his  sweetheart,  he  had  sped  to  the  nether 
regions  with  such  expedition  that  he  had  had  no  time 
to  change  his  costume.  Hence  the  equivocation  which 
confounded  Adeliza,  but  at  the  same  time  preserved 
her  from  being  torn  to  pieces  by  the  no  less  mystified 
Madam  Lucifer. 

Perceiving  the  state  of  the  case,  Lucifer  with  true 
gentlemanly  feeling  resumed  his  proper  semblance,  and 
Madam  Lucifer's  talons  were  immediately  inserted  into 
his  whiskers. 

"My  dear!  my  love!"  he  gasped,  as  audibly  as  she 
would  let  him,  "is  this  the  way  it  welcomes  its  own 
Lucy-pucy?" 

"Who  is  that  person?"  demanded  Madam  Lucifer. 

"I  don't  know  her,"  screamed  the  wretched  Lucifer. 
[248] 


MADAM     LUCIFER 


"I  never  saw  her  before.  Take  her  away;  shut  her  up 
in  the  deepest  dungeon!" 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  sharply  replied  Madam  Lucifer. 
"You  can't  bear  to  part  with  her,  can't  you?  You 
would  intrigue  with  her  under  my  nose,  would  you? 
Take  that!  and  that!  Turn  them  both  out,  I  say!  turn 
them  both  out!" 

"Certainly,  my  dearest  love,  most  certainly,"  re- 
sponded Lucifer. 

"Oh,  Sire,"  cried  Moloch  and  Beelzebub  together, 
"for  Heaven's  sake  let  your  Majesty  consider  what  he 
is  doing.     The  Inspector — " 

"Bother  the  Inspector!"  screeched  Lucifer.  "D'ye 
think  I'm  not  a  thousand  times  more  afraid  of  youj 
mistress  than  of  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar?  There," 
addressing  Adeliza  and  her  betrothed,  "be  off!  You'll 
find  all  debts  paid,  and  a  nice  balance  at  the  bank. 
Out!     Run!" 

They  did  not  wait  to  be  told  twice.  Earth  yawned. 
The  gates  of  Tartarus  stood  wide.  They  found  them- 
selves on  the  side  of  a  steep  mountain,  down  which  they 
scoured  madly,  hand  linked  in  hand.  But  fast  as  they 
ran,  it  was  long  ere  they  ceased  to  hear  the  tongue  of 
Madam  Lucifer. 


[249] 


LUCIFER^ 

BY  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

E  si  compiacque  tanto  Spinello  di  farlo  orrihile  e  contrafatto, 
che  si  dice  {tanto  pud  alcana  fiata  rimmaginazione)  che 
la  detta  figura  da  lui  dipinta  gli  apparve  in  sogno,  do- 
mandandolo  dove  egli  V  avesse  veduta  si  brutta.^ 

(Vile  de'  pin  eccellenti  pittori,  da  Messer 
Giorgio  Vasari. — "Vita  di  Spinello") 

Andrea  Tafi,  painter  and  worker-in-mosaic  of  Flor- 
ence, had  a  wholesome  terror  of  the  Devils  of  Hell,  par- 
ticularly in  the  watches  of  the  night,  when  it  is  given 
to  the  powers  of  Darkness  to  prevail.  And  the  worthy 
man's  fears  were  not  unreasonable,  for  in  those  days  the 
Demons  had  good  cause  to  hate  the  Painters,  who  robbed 
them  of  more  souls  with  a  single  picture  than  a  good 
little  Preaching  Friar  could  do  in  thirty  sermons.  No 
doubt  the  Monk,  to  instil  a  soul-saving  horror  in  the 
hearts  of  the  faithful,  would  describe  to  the  utmost  of 

1  Taken  by  permission  from  The  Well  of  St.  Claire,  by  Anatole 
France,  translated  by  Alfred  AUinson.  Published,  1909,  by  John  Lane 
Co.,  New  York. 

2  "And  so  successful  was  Spinello  with  his  horrible  and  portentous 
Production  that  it  was  commonly  reported — so  great  is  alway  the 
force  of  fancy — that  the  said  figure  (of  Lucifer  trodden  underfoot  by 
St.  Michael  in  the  Altar-Piece  of  the  Church  of  St.  Agnolo  at  Arezzo) 
painted  by  him  had  appeared  to  the  artist  in  a  dream,  and  asked  him 
in  what  place  he  had  beheld  him  under  so  brutish  a  form," 

Lives  of  the  most  Excellent  Painters,  by  Giorgio  Vasari. — "Life  of 
Spinello." 

[250] 


LUCIFER 


his  powers  "that  day  of  wrath,  that  day  of  mourning," 
which  is  to  reduce  the  universe  to  ashes,  teste  David  et 
Sibylla,  borrowing  his  deepest  voice  and  bellowing 
through  his  hands  to  imitate  the  Archangel's  last  trump. 
But  there!  it  was  "all  sound  and  fury,  signifying  noth- 
ing," whereas  a  painting  displayed  on  a  Chapel  wall  or 
in  the  Cloister,  showing  Jesus  Christ  sitting  on  the  Great 
White  Throne  to  judge  the  living  and  the  dead,  spoke 
unceasingly  to  the  eyes  of  sinners,  and  through  the  eyes 
chastened  such  as  had  sinned  by  the  eyes  or  otherwise. 
It  was  in  the  days  when  cunning  masters  were  depict- 
ing at  Santa-Croce  in  Florence  and  the  Campo  Santo  of 
Pisa  the  mysteries  of  Divine  Justice.  These  works  were 
drawn  according  to  the  account  in  verse  which  Dante 
Alighieri,  a  man  very  learned  in  Theology  and  in  Canon 
Law,  wrote  in  days  gone  by  of  his  journey  to  Hell,  and 
Purgatory  and  Paradise,  whither  by  the  singular  great 
merits  of  his  lady,  he  was  able  to  make  his  way  alive. 
So  everything  in  these  paintings  was  instructive  and  true, 
and  we  may  say  surely  less  profit  is  to  be  had  of  reading 
the  most  full  and  ample  Chronicle  than  from  contem- 
plating such  representative  works  of  art.  Moreover,  the 
Florentine  masters  took  heed  to  paint,  under  the  shade 
of  orange  groves,  on  the  flower-starred  turf,  fair  ladies 
and  gallant  knights,  with  Death  lying  in  wait  for  them 
with  his  scythe,  while  they  were  discoursing  of  love  to 
the  sound  of  lutes  and  viols.  Nothing  was  better  fitted 
to  convert  carnal-minded  sinners  who  quaff  forgetful- 
ness  of  God  on  the  lips  of  women.  To  rebuke  the  covet- 
ous, the  painter  would  show  to  the  life  the  Devils  pour- 
ing molten  gold  down  the  throat  of  Bishop  or  Abbess, 

[251] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


who  had  commissioned  some  work  from  him  and  then 
scamped  his  pay. 

This  is  why  the  Demons  in  those  days  were  bitter 
enemies  of  the  painters,  and  above  all  of  the  Florentine 
painters,  who  surpassed  all  the  rest  in  subtlety  of  wit. 
Chiefly  they  reproached  them  with  representing  them 
under  a  hideous  guise,  with  the  heads  of  bird  and  fish, 
serpents'  bodies  and  bats'  wings.  This  sore  resentment 
which  they  felt  will  come  out  plainly  in  the  history  of 
Spinello  of  Arezzo. 

Spinello  Spinelli  was  sprung  of  a  noble  family  of 
Florentine  exiles,  and  his  graciousness  of  mind  matched 
his  gentle  birth;  for  he  was  the  most  skilful  painter  of 
his  time.  He  wrought  many  and  great  works  at  Flor- 
ence; and  the  Pisans  begged  him  to  complete  Giotto's 
wall-paintings  in  their  Campo  Santo,  where  the  dead 
rest  beneath  roses  in  holy  earth  shipped  from  Jerusalem. 
At  last,  after  working  long  years  in  divers  cities  and 
getting  much  gold,  he  longed  to  see  once  more  the  good 
city  of  Arezzo,  his  mother.  The  men  of  Arezzo  had 
not  forgotten  how  Spinello,  in  his  younger  days,  being 
enrolled  in  the  Confraternity  of  Santa  Maria  della  Mis- 
ericordia,  had  visited  the  sick  and  buried  the  dead  in  the 
plague  of  1383.  They  were  grateful  to  him  besides  for 
having  by  his  works  spread  the  fame  of  their  city  over 
all  Tuscany.  For  all  these  reasons  they  welcomed  him 
with  high  honours  on  his  return. 

Still  full  of  vigour  in  his  old  age,  he  undertook  im- 
portant tasks  in  his  native  town.  His  wife  would  tell 
him: 

"You  are  rich,  Spinello.  Do  you  rest,  and  leav© 
[252] 


LUCIFER 


younger  men  to  paint  instead  of  you.  It  is  meet  a  man 
should  end  his  days  in  a  gentle,  religious  quiet.  It  is 
tempting  God  to  be  for  ever  raising  new  and  worldly 
monuments,  mere  heathen  towers  of  Babel.  Quit  your 
colours  and  your  varnishes,  Spinello,  or  they  will  de- 
stroy your  peace  of  mind." 

So  the  good  dame  would  preach,  but  he  refused  to 
listen,  for  his  one  thought  was  to  increase  his  fortune  and 
renown.  Far  from  resting  on  his  laurels,  he  arranged 
a  price  with  the  Wardens  of  Sant'  Agnolo  for  a  history 
of  St.  Michael,  that  was  to  cover  all  the  Choir  of  the 
Church  and  contain  an  infinity  of  figures.  Into  this  en- 
terprise he  threw  himself  with  extraordinary  ardour. 
Re-reading  the  parts  of  Scripture  that  were  to  be  his 
inspiration,  he  set  himself  to  study  deeply  every  line 
and  every  word  of  these  passages.  Not  content  with 
drawing  all  day  long  in  his  workshop,  he  persisted  in 
working  both  at  bed  and  board;  while  at  dusk,  walking 
below  the  hill  on  whose  brow  Arezzo  proudly  lifts  her 
walls  and  towers,  he  was  still  lost  in  thought.  And  we 
may  say  the  story  of  the  Archangel  was  already  limned 
in  his  brain  when  he  started  to  sketch  out  the  incidents 
in  red  chalk  on  the  plaster  of  the  wall.  He  was  soon 
done  tracing  these  outlines ;  then  he  fell  to  painting  above 
the  high  altar  the  scene  that  was  to  outshine  all  the  oth- 
ers in  brilliancy.  For  it  was  his  intent  therein  to  glorify 
the  leader  of  the  hosts  of  Heaven  for  the  victory  he  won 
before  the  beginning  of  time.  Accordingly  Spinello 
represented  St.  Michael  fighting  in  the  air  against  tlie 
serpent  with  seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  and  he  figured 
with  delight,  in  the  bottom  part  of  the  picture,  the  Prince 

[253] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


of  the  Devils,  Lucifer,  under  the  semblance  of  an  ap- 
palling monster.  The  figures  seemed  to  grow  to  life 
of  themselves  under  his  hand.  His  success  was  be- 
yond his  fondest  hopes;  so  hideous  was  the  countenance 
of  Lucifer,  none  could  escape  the  nightmare  of  its  foul- 
ness. The  face  haunted  the  painter  in  the  streets  and 
even  went  home  with  him  to  his  lodging. 

Presently  when  night  was  come,  Spinello  lay  down  in 
his  bed  beside  his  wife  and  fell  asleep.  In  his  slumbers 
he  saw  an  Angel  as  comely  as  St.  Michael,  but  black; 
and  the  Angel  said  to  him: 

"Spinello,  I  am  Lucifer.  Tell  me,  where  had  you 
seen  me,  that  you  should  paint  me  as  you  have,  under 
so  ignominious  a  likeness?" 

The  old  painter  answered,  trembling,  that  he  had  never 
seen  him  with  his  eyes,  never  having  gone  down  alive 
into  Hell,  like  Messer  Dante  Alighieri;  but  that,  in  de- 
picting him  as  he  had  done,  he  was  for  expressing  in 
visible  lines  and  colours  the  hideousness  of  sin. 

Lucifer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  the  hill  of 
San  Gemignano  seemed  of  a  sudden  to  heave  and 
stagger. 

"Spinello,"  he  went  on,  "will  you  do  me  the  pleasure 
to  reason  awhile  with  me?  I  am  no  mean  Logician;  He 
you  pray  to  knows  that." 

Receiving  no  reply,  Lucifer  proceeded  in  these  terms: 

"Spinello,  you  have  read  the  books  that  tell  of  me. 
You  know  of  my  enterprise,  and  how  I  forsook  Heaven 
to  become  the  Prince  of  this  World.  A  tremendous  ad- 
venture,— and  a  unique  one,  had  not  the  Giants  in  like 
fashion  assailed  the  god  Jupiter,  as  yourself  have  seen, 

[254] 


LUCIFER 


Spinello,  recorded  on  an  ancient  tomb  where  this  Ti- 
tanic war  is  carved  in  marble." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Spinello,  "I  have  seen  the  tomb, 
shaped  like  a  great  tun,  in  the  Church  of  Santa  Reparata 
at  Florence.     'Tis  a  fine  work  of  the  Romans." 

"Still,"  returned  Lucifer,  smiling,  "the  Giants  are  not 
pictured  on  it  in  the  shape  of  frogs  or  chameleons  or 
the  like  hideous  and  horrid  creatures." 

"True,"  replied  the  painter,  "but  then  they  had  not 
attacked  the  true  God,  but  only  a  false  idol  of  the  Pa- 
gans. 'Tis  a  mighty  difference.  The  fact  is  clear,  Lu- 
cifer, you  raised  the  standard  of  revolt  against  the  true 
and  veritable  King  of  Earth  and  Heaven." 

"I  will  not  deny  it,"  said  Lucifer.  "And  how  many 
sorts  of  sins  do  you  charge  me  with  for  that?" 

"Seven,  it  is  like  enough,"  the  painter  answered, 
"and  deadly  sins  one  and  all." 

"Seven!"  exclaimed  the  Angel  of  Darkness;  "well! 
the  number  is  canonical.  Everything  goes  by  sevens  in 
my  history,  which  is  close  bound  up  with  God's. 
Spinello,  you  deem  me  proud,  angry  and  envious.  I 
enter  no  protest,  provided  you  allow  that  glory  was  my 
only  aim.  Do  you  deem  me  covetous?  Granted  again; 
Covetousness  is  a  virtue  for  Princes.  For  Gluttony  and 
Lust,  if  you.  hold  me  guilty,  I  will  not  complain.  Re- 
mains Indolence  J^ 

As  he  pronounced  the  word,  Lucifer  crossed  his  arms 
across  his  breast,  and  shaking  his  gloomy  head,  tossed 
his  flaming  locks: 

"Tell  me,  Spinello,  do  you  really  think  I  am  indo- 
lent?    Do  you  take  me  for  a  coward?     Do  you  hold 

[255] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


that  in  my  revolt  I  showed  a  lack  of  courage?  Nay! 
you  cannot.  Then  it  was  but  just  to  paint  me  in  the 
guise  of  a  hero,  with  a  proud  countenance.  You  should 
wrong  no  one,  not  even  the  Devil.  Cannot  you  see  that 
you  insult  Him  you  make  prayer  to,  when  you  give  Him 
for  adversary  a  vile,  monstrous  toad?  Spinello,  you 
are  very  ignorant  for  a  man  of  your  age.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  pull  your  ears,  as  they  do  to  an  ill-conditioned 
schoolboy." 

At  this  threat,  and  seeing  the  arm  of  Lucifer  already 
stretched  out  towards  him,  Spinello  clapped  his  hand  to 
his  head  and  began  to  howl  with  terror. 

His  good  wife,  waking  up  with  a  start,  asked  him 
what  ailed  him.  He  told  her  with  chattering  teeth,  how 
he  had  just  seen  Lucifer  and  had  been  in  terror  for  his 
ears. 

"I  told  you  so,"  retorted  the  worthy  dame;  "I  knew 
all  those  figures  you  will  go  on  painting  on  the  walls 
would  end  by  driving  you  mad." 

"I  am  not  mad,"  protested  the  painter.  "I  saw  him 
with  my  own  eyes;  and  he  is  beautiful  to  look  on,  albeit 
proud  and  sad.  First  thing  tomorrow  I  will  blot  out 
the  horrid  figure  I  have  drawn  and  set  in  its  place  the 
shape  I  beheld  in  my  dream.  For  we  must  not  wrong 
even  the  Devil  himself." 

"You  had  best  go  to  sleep  again,"  scolded  his  wife. 
"You  are  talking  stark  nonsense,  and  unchristian  to 
boot." 

Spinello  tried  to  rise,  but  his  strength  failed  him  and 
he  fell  back  unconscious  on  his  pillow.  He  lingered 
on  a  few  days  in  a  high  fever,  and  then  died. 

[256] 


THE    DEVIL^ 
BY    MAXIM    GORKY 

Life  is  a  burden  in  the  Fall, — the  sad  season  of  decay 
and  death! 

The  grey  days,  the  weeping,  sunless  sky,  the  dark 
nights,  the  growling,  whining  wind,  the  heavy,  black 
autumn  shadows — all  that  drives  clouds  of  gloomy 
thoughts  over  the  human  soul,  and  fills  it  with  a  mysteri- 
ous fear  of  life  where  nothing  is  permanent,  all  is  in  an 
eternal  flux;  things  are  bom,  decay,  die  .  .  .  why? 
.  .  .  for  what  purpose?  .  .  . 

Sometimes  the  strength  fails  us  to  battle  against  the 
tenebrous  thoughts  that  enfold  the  soul  late  in  the 
autumn,  therefore  those  who  want  to  assuage  their  bit- 
terness ought  to  meet  them  half  way.  This  is  the  only 
way  by  which  they  will  escape  from  the  chaos  of  despair 
and  doubt,  and  will  enter  on  the  terra  firma  of  self-con- 
fidence. 

But  it  is  a  laborious  path,  it  leads  through  thorny 
brambles  that  lacerate  the  living  heart,  and  on  that  path 
the  devil  always  lies  in  ambush.  It  is  that  best  of  all 
the  devils,  with  whom  the  great  Goethe  has  made  us  ac- 
quainted. .  .  . 

My  story  is  about  that  devil. 

1  From  the  National  Magazine,  vol.  XV.  By  permission  of  the  Editor 
and  Translator. 

[257] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


The  devil  suffered  from  ennui. 

He  is  too  wise  to  ridicule  everything. 

He  knows  that  there  are  phenomena  of  life  which  the 
devil  himself  is  not  able  to  rail  at;  for  example,  he  has 
never  applied  the  sharp  scalpel  of  his  irony  to  the 
majestic  fact  of  his  existence.  To  tell  the  truth,  our 
favourite  devil  is  more  bold  than  clever,  and  if  we  were 
to  look  more  closely  at  him,  we  might  discover  that,  like 
ourselves,  he  wastes  most  of  his  time  on  trifles.  But 
we  had  better  leave  that  alone;  we  are  not  children  that 
break  their  best  toys  in  order  to  discover  what  is  in  them. 

The  devil  once  wandered  over  the  cemetery  in  the 
darkness  of  an  autumn  night:  he  felt  lonely  and  whistled 
softly  as  he  looked  around  himself  in  search  of  a  dis- 
traction. He  whistled  an  old  song — my  father's  favour- 
ite song, — 

"When,  in  autumnal  days, 
A  leaf  from  its  branch  is  torn 
And  on  high  by  the  wind  is  borne." 

And  the  wind  sang  with  him,  soughing  over  the  graves 
and  among  the  black  crosses,  and  heavy  autumnal  clouds 
slowly  crawled  over  the  heaven  and  with  their  cold  tears 
watered  the  narrow  dwellings  of  the  dead.     The  mourn- 
ful trees  in  the  cemetery  timidly  creaked  under  the 
strokes  of  the  wind  and  stretched  their  bare  branches  to 
the  speechless  clouds.     The  branches  were  now  and  then 
caught  by  the  crosses,  and  then  a  dull,  shuffling,  awful 
sound  passed  over  the  churchyard.  .  .  . 
The  devil  was  whistling,  and  he  thought: 
"I  wonder  how  the  dead  feel  in  such  weather!     No 
[258] 


THE     DE;  VIL 


doubt,  the  dampness  goes  down  to  them,  and  although 
they  are  secure  against  rheumatism  ever  since  the  day 
of  their  death,  yet,  I  suppose,  they  do  not  feel  comfort- 
able. How,  if  I  called  one  of  them  up  and  had  a  talk 
with  him?  It  would  be  a  little  distraction  for  me,  and, 
very  likely,  for  him  also.  I  will  call  him!  Some- 
where around  here  they  have  buried  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  an  author.  ...  I  used  to  visit  him  when  he  was 
alive  .  .  .  why  not  renew  our  acquaintance?  People 
of  his  kind  are  dreadfully  exacting.  I  shall  find  out 
whether  the  grave  satisfies  him  completely.  But  where 
is  his  grave?" 

And  the  devil  who,  as  is  well  known,  knows  every- 
thing, wandered  for  a  long  time  about  the  cemetery,  be- 
fore he  found  the  author's  grave.  .  .  . 

"Oh  there!"  he  called  out  as  he  knocked  with  his 
claws  at  the  heavy  stone  under  which  his  acquaintance 
was  put  away. 

"Get  up!" 

"What  for?"  came  the  dull  answer  from  below. 

"I  need  you." 

"I  won't  get  up." 

"Why?" 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?"  , 

"You  know  me." 

"The  censor?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!     No!" 

"Maybe  a  secret  policeman?" 

"No,  no!" 

"Not  a  critic,  either?" 

"I  am  the  devil." 

[259] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Well,  I'll  be  out  in  a  minute." 

The  stone  lifted  itself  from  the  grave,  the  earth  burst 
open,  and  a  skeleton  came  out  of  it.  It  was  a  very  com- 
mon skeleton,  just  the  kind  that  students  study  anatomy 
by:  only  it  was  dirty,  had  no  wire  connections,  and  in 
the  empty  sockets  there  shone  a  blue  phosphoric  light 
instead  of  eyes.  It  crawled  out  of  the  ground,  shook  its 
bones  in  order  to  throw  off  the  earth  that  stuck  to  them, 
making  a  dry,  rattling  noise  with  them,  and  raising  up 
its  skull,  looked  with  its  cold,  blue  eyes  at  the  murky, 
cloud-covered  sky.  "I  hope  you  are  well!"  said  the 
devil. 

"How  can  I  be?"  curtly  answered  the  author.  He 
spoke  in  a  strange,  low  voice,  as  if  two  bones  were  grat- 
ing against  each  other. 

"Oh,  excuse  my  greeting!"  the  devil  said  pleasantly. 

"Never  mind!   .  .  .  But  why  have  you  raised  me?" 

"I  just  wanted  to  take  a  walk  with  you,  though  the 
weather  is  very  bad. 

"I  suppose  you  are  not  afraid  of  catching  a  cold?" 
asked  the  devil. 

"Not  at  all,  I  got  used  to  catching  colds  during  my 
lifetime." 

"Yes,  I  remember,  you  died  pretty  cold." 

"I  should  say  I  did!  They  had  poured  enough  cold 
water  over  me  all  my  life." 

They  walked  beside  each  other  over  the  narrow  path, 
between  graves  and  crosses.  Two  blue  beams  fell  from 
the  author's  eyes  upon  the  ground  and  lit  the  way  for 
the  devil.  A  drizzling  rain  sprinkled  over  them,  and 
the  wind  freely  passed  between  the  author's  bare  ribs 

[2601 


THE     DEVIL 


and  through  his  breast  where  there  was  no  longer  a 
heart. 

"We  are  going  to  town?"  he  asked  the  devil. 

"What  interests  you  there?" 

"Life,  my  dear  sir,"  the  author  said  impassionately. 

"What!     It  still  has  a  meaning  for  you?" 

"Indeed  it  has!" 

"But  why?" 

"How  am  I  to  say  it?  A  man  measures  all  by  the 
quantity  of  his  eifort,  and  if  he  carries  a  common  stone 
down  from  the  summit  of  Ararat,  that  stone  becomes 
a  gem  to  him." 

"Poor  fellow!"  smiled  the  devil. 

"But  also  happy  man!"  the  author  retorted  coldly. 

The  devil  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

They  left  the  churchyard,  and  before  them  lay  a 
street, — two  rows  of  houses,  and  between  them  was  dark- 
ness in  which  the  miserable  lamps  clearly  proved  the 
want  of  light  upon  earth. 

"Tell  me,"  the  devil  spoke  after  a  pause,  "how  do  you 
like  your  grave?" 

"Now  I  am  used  to  it,  and  it  is  all  right:  it  is  very 
quiet  there." 

"Is  it  not  damp  down  there  in  the  Fall?"  asked  the 
devil. 

"A  little.  But  you  get  used  to  that.  The  greatest  an- 
noyance comes  from  those  various  idiots  who  ramble 
over  the  cemetery  and  accidentally  stumble  on  my  grave. 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  have  been  lying  in  my  grave, 
for  I  and  everything  around  me  is  unchangeable,  and  the 
concept  of  time  does  not  exist  for  me." 

[261] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"You  have  been  in  the  ground  four  years, — it  will 
soon  be  five,"  said  the  devil. 

"Indeed?  Well  then,  there  have  been  three  people  at 
my  grave  during  that  time.  Those  accursed  people 
make  me  nervous.  One,  you  see,  straight  away  denied 
the  fact  of  my  existence:  he  read  my  name  on  the  tomb- 
stone and  said  confidently:  'There  never  was  such  a 
man!  I  have  never  read  him,  though  I  remember  such 
a  name:  when  I  was  a  boy,  there  lived  a  man  of  that 
name  who  had  a  broker's  shop  in  our  street.'  How  do 
you  like  that?  And  my  articles  appeared  for  sixteen 
years  in  the  most  popular  periodicals,  and  three  times 
during  my  lifetime  my  books  came  out  in  separate  edi- 
tions." 

"There  were  two  more  editions  since  your  death,"  the 
devil  informed  him. 

"Well,  you  see?  Then  came  two,  and  one  of  them 
said:  'Oh,  that's  that  fellow!'  'Yes,  that  is  he!'  an- 
swered the  other.  'Yes,  they  used  to  read  him  in  the 
auld  lang  syne.'  'They  read  a  lot  of  them.'  'What  was 
it  he  preached?'  'Oh,  generally,  ideas  of  beauty,  good- 
ness, and  so  forth.'  'Oh,  yes,  I  remember.'  'He  had 
a  heavy  tongue.'  'There  is  a  lot  of  them  in  the  ground: 
— ^yes,  Russia  is  rich  in  talents'  .  .  .  And  those  asses 
went  away.  It  is  true,  warm  words  do  not  raise  the 
temperature  of  the  grave,  and  I  do  not  care  for  that, 
yet  it  hurts  me.  And  oh,  how  I  wanted  to  give  them  a 
piece  of  my  mind!" 

"You  ought  to  have  given  them  a  fine  tongue-lash- 
ing!" smiled  the  devil. 

[262] 


THE    DEVIL 


"No,  that  would  not  have  done.  On  the  verge  of  the 
twentieth  century  it  would  be  absurd  for  dead  people  to 
scold,  and,  besides,  it  would  be  hard  on  the  material- 
ists." 

The  devil  again  felt  the  ennui  coming  over  him. 

This  author  had  always  wished  in  his  lifetime  to  be  a 
bridegroom  at  all  weddings  and  a  corpse  at  all  burials, 
and  now  that  all  is  dead  in  him,  his  egotism  is  still 
alive.  Is  man  of  any  importance  to  life?  Of  import- 
ance is  only  the  human  spirit,  and  only  the  spirit  de- 
serves applause  and  recognition.  .  .  .  How  annoying 
people  are!  The  devil  was  on  the  point  of  proposing 
to  the  author  to  return  to  his  grave,  when  an  idea  flashed 
through  his  evil  head.  They  had  just  reached  a  square, 
and  heavy  masses  of  buildings  surrounded  them  on  all 
sides.  The  dark,  wet  sky  hung  low  over  the  square;  it 
seemed  as  though  it  rested  on  the  roofs  and  murkily 
looked  at  the  dirty  earth. 

"Say,"  said  the  devil  as  he  inclined  pleasantly  to- 
wards the  author,  "don't  you  want  to  know  how  your 
wife  is  getting  on?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  want  to,"  the  author  spoke 
slowly. 

"I  see,  you  are  a  thorough  corpse!"  called  out  the 
devil  to  annoy  him. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know?"  said  the  author  and  jauntily 
shook  his  bones.  "I  don't  mind  seeing  her;  besides, 
she  will  not  see  me,  or  if  she  will,  she  cannot  recog- 
nize me!" 


"Of  course!"  the  devil  assured  him. 
[263] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"You  know,  I  only  said  so  because  she  did  not  like 
for  me  to  go  away  long  from  home,"  explained  the  au- 
thor. 

And  suddenly  the  wall  of  a  house  disappeared  or  be- 
came as  transparent  as  glass.  The  author  saw  the  in- 
side of  large  apartments,  and  it  was  so  light  and  cosy 
in  them. 

"Elegant  appointments!"  he  grated  his  bones  approv- 
ingly: "Very  fine  appointments!  If  I  had  lived  in 
such  rooms,  I  would  be  alive  now." 

"I  like  it,  too,"  said  the  devil  and  smiled.  "And  it  is 
not  expensive — it  only  costs  some  three  thousands." 

"Hem,  that  not  expensive?  I  remember  my  largest 
work  brought  me  815  roubles,  and  I  worked  over  it  a 
whole  year.     But  who  lives  here?" 

"Your  wife,"  said  the  devil. 

"I  declare!     That  is  good  ...  for  her." 

"Yes,  and  here  comes  her  husband." 

"She  is  so  pretty  now,  and  how  well  she  is  dressed! 
Her  husband,  you  say?  What  a  fine  looking  fellow! 
Rather  a  bourgeois  phiz, — kind,  but  somewhat  stupid! 
He  looks  as  if  he  might  be  cunning, — well,  just  the  face 
to  please  a  woman." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  heave  a  sigh  for  you?"  the  devil 
proposed  and  looked  maliciously  at  the  author.  But  he 
was  taken  up  with  the  scene  before  him. 

"What  happy,  jolly  faces  both  have!  They  are  evi- 
dently satisfied  with  life.     Tell  me,  does  she  love  him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  very  much!" 

"And  who  is  he?" 

[264] 


THE     DEVIL 

"A  clerk  in  a  millinery  shop." 

"A  clerk  in  a  millinery  shop,"  the  author  repeated 
slowly  and  did  not  utter  a  word  for  some  time.  The 
devil  looked  at  him  and  smiled  a  merry  smile. 

"Do  you  like  that?"  he  asked. 

The  author  spoke  with  an  effort: 

"I  had  some  children.  ...  I  know  they  are  alive. 
...  I  had  some  children  ...  a  son  and  a  daughter. 
...  I  used  to  think  then  that  my  son  would  turn  out 
in  time  a  good  man.  .  .  ." 

"There  are  plenty  of  good  men,  but  what  the  world 
needs  is  perfect  men,"  said  the  devil  coolly  and  whistled 
a  jolly  march. 

"I  think  the  clerk  is  probably  a  poor  pedagogue  .  .  . 
and  my  son  .  .  ." 

The  author's  empty  skull  shook  sadly. 

"Just  look  how  he  is  embracing  her!  They  are  liv- 
ing an  easy  life!"  exclaimed  the  devil. 

"Yes.     Is  that  clerk  a  rich  man?" 

"No,  he  was  poorer  than  I,  but  your  wife  is  rich." 

"My  wife?     Where  did  she  get  the  money  from?" 

"From  the  sale  of  your  books!" 

"Oh!"  said  the  author  and  shook  his  bare  and  empty 
skull.  "Oh!  Then  it  simply  means  that  I  have  worked 
for  a  certain  clerk?" 

"I  confess  it  looks  that  way,"  the  devil  chimed  in 
merrily. 

The  author  looked  at  the  ground  and  said  to  the  devil: 
"Take  me  back  to  my  grave!" 

...  It  was  late.  A  rain  fell,  heavy  clouds  hung  in 
[265] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


the  sky,  and  the  author  rattled  his  bones  as  he  marched 
rapidly  to  his  grave.  .  .  .  The  devil  walked  behind  him 
and  whistled  merrily. 

My  reader  is,  of  course,  dissatisfied.  My  reader  is 
surfeited  with  literature,  and  even  the  people  that  write 
only  to  please  him,  are  rarely  to  his  taste.  In  the  pres- 
ent case  my  reader  is  also  dissatisfied  because  I  have 
said  nothing  about  hell.  As  my  reader  is  justly  con- 
vinced that  after  death  he  will  find  his  way  there,  he 
would  like  to  know  something  about  hell  during  his  life- 
time. Really,  I  can't  tell  anything  pleasant  to  my 
reader  on  that  score,  because  there  is  no  hell,  no  fiery 
hell  which  it  is  so  easy  to  imagine.  Yet,  there  is  some- 
thing else  and  infinitely  more  terrible. 

The  moment  the  doctor  will  have  said  about  you  to 
your  friends:  "He  is  dead!"  you  will  enter  an  im- 
measurable, illuminated  space,  and  that  is  the  space  of 
the  consciousness  of  your  mistakes. 

You  lie  in  the  grave,  in  a  narrow  coffin,  and  your  mis- 
erable life  rotates  about  you  like  a  wheel. 

It  moves  painfully  slow,  and  passes  before  you  from 
your  first  conscious  step  to  the  last  moment  of  your  life. 

You  will  see  all  that  you  have  hidden  from  yourself 
during  your  lifetime,  all  the  lies  and  meanness  of  your 
existence:  you  will  think  over  anew  all  your  past 
thoughts,  and  you  will  see  every  wrong  step  of  yours, 
— all  your  life  will  be  gone  over,  to  its  minutest  details ! 

And  to  increase  your  torments,  you  will  know  that  on 
that  narrow  and  stupid  road  which  you  have  traversed, 
others  are  marching,  and  pushing  each  other,  and  hur- 

[266] 


THE     DEVIL 


rying,  and  lying.  .  .  .  And  you  understand  that  they  are 
doing  it  all  only  to  find  out  in  time  how  shameful  it  is 
to  live  such  a  wretched,  soulless  life. 

And  though  you  see  them  hastening  on  towards  their 
destruction,  you  are  in  no  way  able  to  warn  them:  you 
will  not  move  nor  cry,  and  your  helpless  desire  to  aid 
them  will  tear  your  soul  to  pieces. 

Your  life  passes  before  you,  and  you  see  it  from  the 
start,  and  there  is  no  end  to  the  work  of  your  conscience, 
and  there  will  be  no  end  .  .  .  and  to  the  horror  of  your 
torments  there  will  never  be  an  end  .  .  .  never! 


[267] 


THE   DEVIL   AND   THE    OLD   MAN^ 
BY    JOHN    MASEFIELD 

Up  away  north,  in  the  old  days,  in  Chester,  there  was 
a  man  who  never  throve.  Nothing  he  put  his  hand  to 
ever  prospered,  and  as  his  state  worsened,  his  friends 
fell  away,  and  he  grew  desperate.  So  one  night  when 
he  was  alone  in  his  room,  thinking  of  the  rent  due  in 
two  or  three  days  and  the  money  he  couldn't  scrape  to- 
gether, he  cried  out,  "I  wish  I  could  sell  my  soul  to  the 
devil  like  that  man  the  old  books  tell  about." 

Now  just  as  he  spoke  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and, 
while  it  chimed,  a  sparkle  began  to  burn  about  the  room, 
and  the  air,  all  at  once,  began  to  smell  of  brimstone,  and 
a  voice  said: 

"Will  these  terms  suit  you?" 

He  then  saw  that  some  one  had  just  placed  a  parch- 
ment there.  He  picked  it  up  and  read  it  through;  and 
being  in  despair,  and  not  knowing  what  he  was  doing, 
he  answered,  "Yes,"  and  looked  round  for  a  pen. 

"Take  and  sign,"  said  the  voice  again,  "but  first  con- 
sider what  it  is  you  do;  do  nothing  rashly.     Consider." 

So  he  thought  awhile;  then  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I'll  sign," 
and  with  that  he  groped  for  the  pen. 

1  From  A  Mainsail  Haul,  by  John  Masefield  [Copyright  1913  by  The 
Macmillan  Company.  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  Author  and  the 
Publishers.] 

[268] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  OLD  MAN 

"Blood  from  your  left  thumb  and  sign,"  said  the 
voice. 

So  he  pricked  his  left  thumb  and  signed. 

"Here  is  your  earnest  money,"  said  the  voice,  "nine 
and  twenty  silver  pennies.  This  day  twenty  years  hence 
I  shall  see  you  again." 

Now  early  next  morning  our  friend  came  to  himself 
and  felt  like  one  of  the  drowned.  "What  a  dream  I've 
had,"  he  said.  Then  he  woke  up  and  saw  the  nine  and 
twenty  silver  pennies  and  smelt  a  faint  smell  of  brim- 
stone. 

So  he  sat  in  his  chair  there,  and  remembered  that  he 
had  sold  his  soul  to  the  devil  for  twenty  years  of  heart' s- 
desire;  and  whatever  fears  he  may  have  had  as  to  what 
might  come  at  the  end  of  those  twenty  years,  he  found 
comfort  in  the  thought  that,  after  all,  twenty  years  is  a 
good  stretch  of  time,  and  that  throughout  them  he  could 
eat,  drink,  merrymake,  roll  in  gold,  dress  in  silk,  and  be 
care-free,  heart  at  ease  and  jib-sheet  to  windward. 

So  for  nineteen  years  and  nine  months  he  lived  in 
great  state,  having  his  heart's  desire  in  all  things;  but, 
when  his  twenty  years  were  nearly  run  through,  there 
was  no  wretcheder  man  in  all  the  world  than  that  poor 
fellow.  So  he  threw  up  his  house,  his  position,  riches, 
everything,  and  away  he  went  to  the  port  of  Liverpool, 
where  he  signed  on  as  A.  B.,  aboard  a  Black  Ball  packet, 
a  tea  clipper,  bound  to  the  China  seas. 

They  made  a  fine  passage  out,  and  when  our  friend 
had  only  three  days  more,  they  were  in  the  Indian  Ocean 
lying  lazy,  becalmed. 

Now  it  was  his  wheel  that  forenoon,  and  it  being  dead 
[260] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


calm,  all  he  had  to  do  was  just  to  think  of  things;  the 
ship  of  course  having  no  way  on  her. 

So  he  stood  there,  hanging  on  to  the  spokes,  groaning 
and  weeping  till,  just  twenty  minutes  or  so  before  eight 
bells  were  made,  up  came  the  Captain  for  a  turn  on 
deck. 

He  went  aft,  of  course,  took  a  squint  aloft,  and  saw  our 
friend  crying  at  the  wheel.  "Hello,  my  man,"  he  says, 
"why,  what's  all  this?  Ain't  you  well?  You'd  best  lay 
aft  for  a  dose  o'salts  at  four  bells  tonight." 

"No,  Cap'n,"  said  the  man,  "there's  no  salts'll  ever 
cure  my  sickness." 

"Why,  what's  all  this?"  says  the  old  man.  "You 
must  be  sick  if  it's  as  bad  as  all  that.  But  come  now; 
your  cheek  is  all  sunk,  and  you  look  as  if  you  ain't  slept 
well.  What  is  it  ails  you,  anyway?  Have  you  any- 
thing on  your  mind?" 

"Captain,"  he  answers  very  solemn,  "I  have  sold  my 
soul  to  the  devil." 

"Oh,"  said  the  old  man,  "why,  that's  bad.  That's 
powerful  bad.  I  never  thought  them  sort  of  things  ever 
happened  outside  a  book." 

"But,"  said  our  friend,  "that's  not  the  worst  of  it, 
Captain.  At  this  time  three  days  hence  the  devil  will 
fetch  me  home." 

"Good  Lord!"  groaned  the  old  man.  "Here's  a  nice 
hurrah's  nest  to  happen  aboard  my  ship.  But  come 
now,"  he  went  on,  "did  the  devil  give  you  no  chance — 
no  saving-clause  like?  Just  think  quietly  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"Yes,  Captain,"  said  our  friend,  "just  when  I  made 
[270] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  OLD  MAN 

the  deal,  there  came  a  whisper  in  my  ear.  And,"  he 
said,  speaking  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  let  the  mate 
hear,  "if  I  can  give  the  devil  three  jobs  to  do  which  he 
cannot  do,  why,  then,  Captain,"  he  says,  "I'm  saved,  and 
that  deed  of  mine  is  cancelled." 

Well,  at  this  the  old  man  grinned  and  said,  "You 
just  leave  things  to  me,  my  son.  Fll  fix  the  devil  for 
you.  Aft  there,  one  o'  you,  and  relieve  the  wheel. 
Now  you  run  forrard,  and  have  a  good  watch  below,  and 
be  quite  easy  in  your  mind,  for  I'll  deal  with  the  devil 
for  you.     You  rest  and  be  easy." 

And  so  that  day  goes  by,  and  the  next,  and  the  one 
after  that,  and  the  one  after  that  was  the  day  the  Devil 
was  due. 

Soon  as  eight  bells  was  made  in  the  morning  watch, 
the  old  man  called  all  hands  aft. 

"Men,"  he  said,  "I've  got  an  all-hands  job  for  you  this 
forenoon." 

"Mr.  Mate,"  he  cried,  "get  all  hands  on  to  the  main- 
tops'l  halliards  and  bowse  the  sail  stiff  up  and  down." 

So  they  passed  along  the  halliards,  and  took  the  turns 
off,  and  old  John  Chantyman  piped  up — 

There's  a  Black  Ball  clipper 
Comin'  down  the  river. 

And  away  the  yard  went  to  the  mast-head  till  the  bunt- 
robands  jammed  in  the  sheave. 

"Very  well  that,"  said  the  old  man.     "Now  get  my 
dinghy  off  o'  the  half -deck  and  let  her  drag  alongside." 
So  they  did  that,  too. 

'  "Very  well  that,"  said  the  old  man.     "Now  forrard 

[271] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


with  you,  to  the  chain-locker,  and  rouse  out  every  inch 
of  chain  you  find  there." 

So  forrard  they  went,  and  the  chain  was  lighted  up 
and  flaked  along  the  deck  all  clear  for  running. 

"Now,  Chips,"  says  the  old  man  to  the  carpenter,  "just 
bend  the  spare  anchor  to  the  end  of  that  chain,  and  clear 
away  the  fo'c's'le  rails  ready  for  when  we  let  go." 

So  they  did  this,  too. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  man,  "get  them  tubs  of  slush 
from  the  galley.  Pass  that  slush  along  there,  doctor. 
Very  well  that.  Now  turn  to,  all  hands,  and  slush  away 
every  link  in  that  chain  a  good  inch  thick  in  grease." 

So  they  did  that,  too,  and  wondered  what  the  old  man 
meant. 

"Very  well  that,"  cries  the  old  man.  "Now  get  below 
all  hands!  Chips,  on  to  the  fo'c's'le  head  with  you  and 
stand  by!  I'll  keep  the  deck,  Mr.  Mate!  Very  well 
that." 

So  all  hands  tumbled  down  below;  Chips  took  a  fill 
o'  baccy  to  leeward  of  the  capstan,  and  the  old  man 
walked  the  weather-poop  looking  for  a  sign  of  hell-fire. 

It  was  still  dead  calm — but  presently,  towards  six 
bells,  he  raised  a  black  cloud  away  to  leeward,  and  saw 
the  glimmer  of  the  lightning  in  it;  only  the  flashes  were 
too  red,  and  came  too  quick. 

"Now,"  says  he  to  himself,  "stand  by." 

Very  soon  that  black  cloud  worked  up  to  windward, 
right  alongside,  and  there  came  a  red  flash,  and  a  strong 
sulphurous  smell,  and  then  a  loud  peal  of  thunder  as 
the  devil  steps  aboard. 

"Momin',  Cap'n,"  says  he. 
[272] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  OLD  MAN 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Devil,"  says  the  old  man,  "and  what 
in  blazes  do  you  want  aboard  my  ship?" 

"Why,  Captain,"  said  the  devil,  "I've  come  for  the 
soul  of  one  of  your  hands  as  per  signed  agreement:  and, 
as  my  time's  pretty  full  up  in  these  wicked  days,  I  hope 
you  won't  keep  me  waiting  for  him  longer  than  need 
be." 

"Well,  Mr.  Devil,"  says  the  old  man,  "the  man  you 
come  for  is  down  below,  sleeping,  just  at  this  moment. 
It's  a  fair  pity  to  call  him  up  till  it's  right  time.  So 
supposin'  I  set  you  them  three  tasks.  How  would  that 
be  ?     Have  you  any  ob j  ections  ?  " 

"Why,  no,"  said  the  devil,  "fire  away  as  soon  as  you 
like." 

"Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  see  that  main- 
tops'l  yard?  Suppose  you  lay  out  on  that  main-tops'l 
yard  and  take  in  three  reefs  singlehanded." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  the  devil  said,  and  he  ran  up  the  rat- 
lines, into  the  top,  up  the  topmast  rigging  and  along  the 
yard. 

Well,  when  he  found  the  sail  stiff  up  and  down,  he 
hailed  the  deck: 

"Below  there!  On  deck  there!  Lower  away  ya  hal- 
liards!" 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  old  man,  "nary  a  lower." 

"Come  up  your  sheets,  then,"  cries  the  devil.  "This 
main-topsail's  stiff  up-and-down.  How'm  I  to  take  in 
three  reefs  when  the  sail's  stiff  up-and-down?" 

"Why,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  carCt  do  it.  Come 
out  o'  that!  Down  from  aloft,  you  hoof -footed  son. 
That's  one  to  me." 

[273] 


DEVIL     STORIES 


"Yes,"  says  the  devil,  when  he  got  on  deck  again, 
"I  don't  deny  it,  Cap'n.     That's  one  to  you." 

"Now,  Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  going  towards 
the  rail,  "suppose  you  was  to  step  into  that  little  boat 
alongside  there.     Will  you  please?" 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  said,  and  he  slid  down  the  forrard 
fall,  got  into  the  stem  sheets,  and  sat  down. 

"Now,  Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  skipper,  taking  a  little 
salt  spoon  from  his  vest  pocket,  "supposin'  you  bail  all 
the  water  on  that  side  the  boat  on  to  this  side  the  boat, 
using  this  spoon  as  your  dipper." 

Well! — the  devil  just  looked  at  him. 

"Say!"  he  said  at  length,  "which  of  the  New  England 
States  d'ye  hail  from  anyway?" 

"Not  Jersey,  anyway,"  said  the  old  man.  "That's 
two  up,  alright;  ain't  it,  sonny?" 

"Yes,"  growls  the  devil,  as  he  climbs  aboard. 
"That's  two  up.  Two  to  you  and  one  to  play.  Now, 
what's  your  next  contraption?" 

"Mr.  Devil,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  very  innocent, 
"you  see,  I've  ranged  my  chain  ready  for  letting  go 
anchor.  Now  Chips  is  forrard  there,  and  when  I  sing 
out,  he'll  let  the  anchor  go.  Supposin'  you  stopper  the 
chain  with  them  big  hands  o'  yourn  and  keep  it  from 
running  out  clear.     Will  you,  please?" 

So  the  devil  takes  off  his  coat  and  rubs  his  hands  to- 
gether, and  gets  away  forrard  by  the  bitts,  and  stands 
by. 

"All  ready,  Cap'n,"  he  says. 

"All  ready,  Chips?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"All  ready,  sir,"  replies  Chips. 
[274] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  OLD  MAN 

"Then,  stand  by — Let  go  the  anchor,"  and  clink, 
clink,  old  Chips  knocks  out  the  pin,  and  away  goes  the 
spare  anchor  and  greased  chain  into  a  five  mile  deep  of 
God's  sea.     As  I  said,  they  were  in  the  Indian  Ocean. 

Well — there  was  the  devil,  making  a  grab  here  and 
a  grab  there,  and  the  slushy  chain  just  slipping  through 
his  claws,  and  at  whiles  a  bight  of  chain  would  spring 
clear  and  rap  him  in  the  eye. 

So  at  last  the  cable  was  nearly  clean  gone,  and  the 
devil  ran  to  the  last  big  link  (which  was  seized  to  the 
heel  of  the  foremast),  and  he  put  both  his  arms  through 
it,  and  hung  on  to  it  like  grim  death. 

But  the  chain  gave  such  a  Yank  when  it  came-to,  that 
the  big  link  carried  away,  and  oh,  roll  and  go,  out  it 
went  through  the  hawsehole,  in  a  shower  of  bright 
sparks,  carrying  the  devil  with  it.  There  is  no  devil 
now.     The  devil's  dead. 

As  for  the  old  man,  he  looked  over  the  bows  watching 
the  bubbles  burst,  but  the  devil  never  rose.  Then  he 
went  to  the  fo'c's'le  scuttle  and  banged  thereon  with  a 
hand-spike. 

"Rouse  out,  there,  the  port  watch!"  he  called,  "an' 
get  my  dinghy  inboard." 


[275] 


NOTES 


THE   DEVIL   IN   A   NUNNERY 

BY  FRANCIS   OSCAR  MANN 

According  to  a  German  legend,  the  devil  is  master  of  all 
arts,  and  certainly  he  has  given  sufficient  proof  of  his  musical 
talent.  Certain  Church  Fathers  ascribed,  not  without  good  rea- 
son, the  origin  of  music  to  Satan.  "The  Devil,"  says  Mr. 
Huneker  in  his  diabolical  story  "The  Supreme  Sin"  (1920),  "is 
the  greatest  of  all  musicians,"  and  Rowland  Hill  long  ago 
admitted  the  fact  that  the  devil  has  all  the  good  tunes.  Perhaps 
his  greatest  composition  is  the  Sonata  del  Diavolo,  which  Tar- 
tini  wrote  down  in  1713.  This  diabolical  master-piece  is  the 
subject  of  Gerard  de  Nerval's  story  La  Sonate  du  Diable 
(1830).  While  the  devil  plays  all  instruments  equally  well, 
he  seems  to  prefer  the  violin.  Satan  appears  as  fiddler  in  the 
poem  "Der  Teufel  mit  der  Geige,"  which  has  been  ascribed  to 
the  Swiss  anti-Papist  Pamphilus  Gengenbach  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  In  Leanu's  Faust  (1836)  Mephistopheles  takes  the 
violin  out  of  the  hands  of  one  of  the  musicians  at  a  peasant- 
wedding  and  plays  a  diabolical  czardas,  which  fills  the  hearts 
of  all  who  hear  it  with  voluptuousness.  An  opera  Un  Violon 
du  Diable  was  played  in  Paris  in  1849.  The  Devil's  Violin, 
an  extravaganza  in  verse  by  Benjamin  Webster,  was  performed 
the  same  year  in  London.  In  his  story  "Les  Tentations  ou 
Eros,  Plutus  et  la  Gloire"  Baudelaire  presents  the  Demon 
of  Love  as  holding  in  his  left  hand  a  violin  "which  with- 
out doubt  served  to  sing  his  pleasures  and  pains."  The  devil 
also  appears  as  limping  fiddler  in  a  California  legend,  which 
appeared  under  the  title  "The  Devil's  Fiddle"  in  a  Californian 
magazine  in  1855.     Death,  the  devil's  first  cousin,  if  not  his 

[279] 


NOTES 


alter  ego,  has  the  souls,  in  the  Dance  of  Death,  march  off  to 
hell  to  a  merry  tune  on  his  violin.  Death  appears  as  a  musi- 
cian also  in  the  Piper  of  Hamlin.  In  this  legend,  well  known 
to  the  English  world  through  Browning's  poem  "Pied  Piper  of 
Hamelin"  (1843)  and  Miss  Peabody's  play  The  Piper  (1909), 
the  rats  are  the  human  souls,  which  Death  charms  with  his 
music  into  following  him.  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  soul  was 
often  represented  as  leaving  the  body  in  the  form  of  a  mouse. 
The  soul  of  a  good  man  comes  out  of  his  mouth  as  a  white 
mouse,  while  at  the  death  of  a  sinner  the  soul  escapes  as  a 
black  mouse,  which  the  devil  catches  and  brings  to  hell.  Meph- 
istopheles,  it  will  be  recalled,  calls  himself  "the  lord  of  rats 
and  mice"  (Faust,  1,  1516).  Devil-Death  has  inherited  this 
wind  instrument  from  the  goat-footed  Pan. 

"The  Devil  is  more  busy  in  the  convents,"  we  are  told  by 
J.  K.  Huysmans  in  his  novel  En  route  (1895),  "than  in  the 
cities,  as  he  has  a  harder  job  on  hand." 


[280] 


BELPHAGOR 
BY  NICGOLO   MACHIAVELLI 

This  story  of  the  devil  Belphagor,  who  was  sent  by  his  in- 
fernal chief  Pluto  up  to  earth,  where  he  married  an  earthly 
wife,  but  finally  left  her  in  disgust  to  go  back  to  hell,  is  also 
of  mediaeval  origin.  It  was  first  printed  by  Giovanni  Brevio 
in  1545,  and  appeared  for  the  second  time  with  the  name  of 
Machiavelli  in  1549,  twenty -two  years  after  the  death  of  the 
diabolical  statesman.  The  two  authors  did  not  borrow  from 
each  other,  but  had  a  common  source  in  a  mediaeval  Latin 
manuscript,  which  seems  to  have  first  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
Italians,  but  was  later  brought  to  France  where  it  has  been  lost. 
The  tale  of  the  marriage  of  the  devil  appeared  in  several  other 
Italian  versions  during  the  sixteenth  century.  Among  the  Ital- 
ian novelists,  who  retold  it  for  the  benefit  of  their  married 
friends,  may  be  mentioned  Giovan-Francesco  Straparola,  Fran- 
cesco Sansovino,  and  Gabriel  Chappuys.  In  England  this  story 
was  no  less  popular.  Barnabe  Riche  inserted  it  in  his  collec- 
tion of  narratives  in  1581,  and  we  meet  it  again  later  in  the 
following  plays :  Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon,  ascribed  to  Ul- 
pian  Fulwell  (1599) ;  The  Devil  and  his  Dame  by  P.  M.  Hough- 
ton (1600) ;  Machiavel  and  the  Devil  by  Daborne  and  Hens- 
lowe  (1613) ;  The  Devil  is  an  Ass  by  Ben  Jonson  (1616) ;  and 
Belphagor,  or  the  Marriage  of  the  Devil  (1690).  In  France 
the  story  was  treated  in  verse  by  La  Fontaine  (1694),  and  in 
Germany  it  served  the  Nuremberg  poet  Hans  Sachs  as  the  sub- 
ject for  a  farce  (1557). 

The  Ey cyclopaedia  Britannica  is  authority  for  the  statement 

[281] 


NOTES 


that  Machiavelli's  own  married  life  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
plot  of  his  story. 

"The  notion  of  this  story  is  ingenious,  and  might  have  been 
made  productive  of  entertaining  incident,  had  Belphagor  been 
led  by  his  connubial  connections  from  one  crime  to  another. 
But  Belphagor  is  only  unfortunate,  and  in  no  respect  guilty; 
nor  did  anything  occur  during  his  abode  on  earth  that  testified 
to  the  power  of  woman  in  leading  us  to  final  condemnation. 
The  story  of  the  peasant  and  the  possession  of  the  princesses 
bears  no  reference  to  the  original  idea  with  which  the  tale  com- 
mences, and  has  no  connection  with  the  object  of  the  infernal 
deputy's  terrestrial  sojourn"  (J.  C.  Dunlop,  History  of  Fiction) . 
To  this  criticism  Mr.  Thomas  Roscoe  replies  that  "part  of  the 
humour  of  the  story  seems  to  consist  in  Belphagor's  earthly  ca- 
reer being  cut  short  before  he  had  served  the  full  term  of  his 
apprenticeship.  But  from  the  follies  and  extravagances  into 
which  he  had  already  plunged,  we  are  now  authorized  to  believe 
that,  even  if  he  had  been  able  longer  to  support  the  asperities 
of  the  lady's  temper,  he  must,  from  the  course  he  was  pursuing, 
have  been  led  from  crime  to  crime,  or  at  least  from  folly  to 
folly,  to  such  a  degree  that  he  would  infallibly  have  been  con- 
demned" (T.  Roscoe,  Italian  Novelists). 

The  demon  of  Machiavelli  offers  no  features  of  a  deep  psy- 
chology, but  he  distinguishes  himself  from  the  other  demons 
of  his  period  by  his  elegant  manners.  Like  creator,  like  crea- 
ture. 

Belphagor,  the  god  of  the  Moabites,  like  all  other  pagan 
gods,  joined  the  infernal  forces  of  Satan  when  driven  off  the 
earth  by  the  Church  Triumphant. 

The  parliament  of  devils,  which  we  find  in  this  story,  was 
taken  from  the  mystery-plays  where  the  ruler  of  hell  is  rep- 
resented as  holding  occasional  receptions  when  he  listens  to 
the  reports  of  their  recent  achievements  on  his  behalf,  and  con- 
sults their  opinion  on  matters  of  state.     Satan,  who  has  always 

[282] 


NOTES 


wished  to  rival  God,  has  instituted  the  infernal  council  in  imi- 
tation of  the  celestial  council  described  in  the  Book  of  Job. 
The  source  for  the  parliament  of  devils  is  the  apocryphal  book 
Evangelium  Nicodemi.  An  early  metrical  tract  under  the  title 
of  the  Parlement  of  Devils  was  printed  two  or  three  times  in 
London  about  1520.  A  "Pandemonium"  is  also  found  in 
Tasso,  Milton,  and  Chateaubriand.  The  Parlement  of  Foules 
(14th  century)  is  but  a  modification  of  the  Parlement  of  Devils, 
for  the  devil  and  the  fool  were  originally  identical  in  per- 
son and  may  be  traced  back  to  the  demonic  clown  of  the  ancient 
heathen  cult  (cf.  the  present  writer's  book.  The  Origin  of  the 
German  Carnival  Comedy,  p.  37) .  A  far  echo  is  Thomas  Chat- 
terton's  poem  The  Parliament  of  Sprites. 

This  story  recalls  to  us  the  saying  that  the  heart  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman  is  the  most  beloved  hiding-place  of  at  least  seven 
devils. 


[283] 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

BY   WASHINGTON   IRVING 

By  his  interest  in  popular  legends  the  first  of  the  great  Amer- 
ican writers  shows  his  sympathy  with  the  Romantic  movement, 
which  prevailed  in  his  time  in  all  the  countries  of  Europe. 
His  devil,  however,  has  not  been  imported  from  the  lands 
across  the  Atlantic,  but  is  a  part  of  the  superstitions  of  the 
New  World.  The  author  himself  did  not  believe  in  "Old 
Scratch."  The  real  devils  for  him  were  the  slave-traders  and 
the  witch-hunters  of  Salem  fame.  It  is  interesting  now  to  read 
a  contemporary  critic  of  Washington  Irving's  devil-story:  "If 
Mr.  Irving  believes  in  the  existence  of  Tom  Walker's  master, 
we  can  scarcely  conceive  how  he  can  so  earnestly  jest  about 
him;  at  all  events,  we  would  counsel  him  to  beware  lest  his  own 
spells  should  prove  fatal  to  him"  {Eclectic  Review,  1825). 
Few  people  in  those  days  had  the  courage  to  take  Old  Nick 
good-naturedly.  "  Even  the  clever  Madame  de  Stael,"  said 
Goethe,  "was  greatly  scandalized  that  I  kept  the  devil  in  such 
good-humour." 

The  devil  appears  in  many  colours,  principally,  however,  in 
black  and  red.  It  is  a  common  belief  in  Scotland  that  the 
devil  is  a  black  man,  as  may  also  be  seen  in  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson's  story  "Thrawn  Janet."  There  is  no  warrant  in  the 
biblical  tradition  for  a  black  devil.  Satan,  however,  appeared 
as  an  Ethiopian  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  the  Church  Fathers. 
The  black  colour  presumably  is  intended  to  suggest  his  place 
of  abode,  whereas  red  denotes  the  scorching  fires  of  hell.  The 
devil  was  considered  as  a  sort  of  eternal  Salamander.     In  the 

[284} 


NOTES 


New  Testament  he  is  described  as  a  fiery  fiend.  Red  was  con- 
sidered by  Oriental  nations  as  a  diabolical  colour.  In  Egypt 
red  hair  and  red  animals  of  all  kinds  were  considered  infernal. 
The  Apis  was  also  red-coloured.  Satan's  red  beard  recalls 
the  Scandinavian  god  Donar  or  Thor,  who  is  of  Phoenician  or- 
igin. Judas  was  always  represented  in  mediaeval  mystery- 
plays  with  a  red  beard;  and  down  to  the  present  day  red  hair 
is  the  mark  of  a  suspicious  character.  The  devil  also  appears 
as  yellow,  and  even  blue,  but  never  as  white  ar  green.  The 
yellow  devil  is  but  a  shade  less  bright  than  his  fiery  brother. 
The  blue  devil  is  a  sulphur-constitutioned  individual.  He  is 
the  demon  of  melancholy,  and  fills  us  with  "the  blues."  As  the 
spirit  of  darkness  and  death,  the  devil  cannot  assume  the  col- 
ours of  white  or  green,  which  are  the  symbols  of  light  and 
life.  The  devil's  dragon-tail  is,  according  to  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
of  biblical  tradition,  coming  from  a  literal  interpretation  of  a 
figurative  expression. 

A  few  interesting  remarks  on  the  expression  "The  Devil 
and  Tom  Walker"  current  in  certain  parts  of  this  country  as  a 
caution  to  usurers  will  be  found  in  Dr.  Blondheim's  article 
"The  Devil  and  Doctor  Foster"  in  Modern  Language  Notes  for 
1918. 


[285] 


FROM    THE    MEMOIRS    OF    SATAN 

BY   WILHELM   HAUFF 

Wilhelm  HaufF,  the  author  of  this  book,  ranks  honourably 
among  the  members  of  the  Romantic  School  in  Germany.  As 
the  work  of  a  man  of  only  twenty-two  years,  just  out  of  the 
university,  the  book  is  a  credit  to  its  author.  It  must  be 
admitted,  however,  that  it  was  not  altogether  original  with 
him.  The  idea  was  taken  from  E.  Th.  A.  Hoffmann, — Devil- 
Hoffmann,  as  he  was  called  by  his  contemporaries, — who  in  his 
short-story  "Der  Teufel  in  Berlin"  also  has  the  devil  travel  in- 
cognito in  Germany;  and  the  title  was  borrowed  from  Jean 
Paul  Richter,  who  also  claimed  to  edit  Selections  from  the 
Devil's  Papers  (Auswahl  aus  des  Teufels  Papieren,  1789). 
There  were  others,  too,  who  claimed  to  have  been  honoured 
by  his  Satanic  Majesty  to  edit  his  "journal."  J.  R.  Beard,  a 
Unitarian  minister,  published  in  1872  an  Autobiography  of 
Satan.  Another  autobiography  of  Satan  is  said  to  have  been 
found  among  the  posthumous  works  of  Leonid  Andreev, 
author  of  that  original  diabolical  work  Anathema,  a  tragedy 
(Engl.  tr.  1910).  This  book  has  just  appeared  in  English 
under  the  title  Satan's  Diary,  Frederic  Soulie's  Les  Memoires 
du  Diable  (1837/8)  consist  of  memoirs  not  of  the  devil  him- 
self, but  of  other  people,  which  the  Count  de  Luizzi,  the  human 
partner  to  the  diabolical  pact,  is  very  anxious  to  know.  Hauff's 
book  consists  of  a  series  of  papers,  which  are  but  loosely  con- 
nected. In  certain  passages  we  hear  nothing  of  the  autobiog- 
rapher.  The  Suavian  writer  apparently  could  digest  the  Dia- 
bolical only  in  homeopathic  doses.     His  Satan,  moreover,  is  a 

[286] 


NOTES 


very  youthful  and  quite  harmless  devil.  He  is  nothing  but  a 
personified  echo  of  the  author's  student-days.  The  book  by 
Hauff  is  perhaps  the  most  popular  personification  of  the  devil 
in  German  literature. 

The  passage  presented  here  shows  the  phantastic  element 
of  the  book  at  its  best.  The  short  introductory  synopsis  will 
give  an  idea  of  its  satirical  aspect.  The  humorous  aspect 
has  pretty  nearly  been  lost  in  translation.  Professor  Brander 
Matthews  has  aptly  said:  "The  German  humour  is  like  the 
simple  Italian  wines — it  will  not  stand  export." 

Of  all  the  peoples,  the  Germans  seem  to  have  had  the  most 
kindly  feelings  towards  the  devil.  This  is  because  they  knew 
him  better.  To  judge  from  the  many  bridges  and  cathedrals, 
which  the  demon,  according  to  legends,  has  built  in  Germany, 
he  must  have  been  a  frequent  visitor  to  that  country.  In 
Frankfort,  where  with  his  own  hands  our  author  received  the 
memoirs  from  the  autobiographer,  there  is  a  gilded  cock  above 
the* bridge  in  memory  of  the  bargain  the  bridge-builder  once 
made  with  Satan  to  give  him  the  first  living  thing  that  should 
cross  the  river.  The  day  the  bridge  was  finished,  a  cock  flut- 
tered from  a  woman's  market-basket  and  ran  over  the  bridge. 
A  claw-like  hand  reached  down  and  claimed  the  prize. 

The  distinguished  personage,  whose  adventures  form  the  sub- 
ject of  this  book,  does  not  figure  in  it  under  his  own  name,  nor 
does  he  appear  here  in  the  gala  attire  of  tail,  horns  and  cloven 
foot  with  which  he  graces  the  revels  on  the  Blocksberg.  He 
borrows  for  the  nonce  a  tall,  gentlemanly  figure,  surmounted 
by  delicate  features,  dresses  well,  is  fastidious  about  his  ring 
and  linen,  travels  post  and  stops  at  the  best  hotels.  He  be- 
gins his  earthly  career  by  studying  at  the  renowned  uni- 
versity of .  As  he  can  boast  of  abundant  means,  a  hand- 
some wardrobe  and  the  name  of  Herr  von  Barbe,  it  is  no  won- 
der that  on  the  first  evening  he  should  be  politely  received,  the 
next  morning  have  a  confidential  friend,  and  the  second  evening 
ambrace   "brothers  till   death."     He   becomes   much   puzzled 

[287] 


NOTES 


at  the  extraordinary  manners  of  the  students,  and  at  their 
language,  so  different  from  that  of  every  rational  German. 
He  remarks :  "Over  a  glass  of  beer  they  often  fell  into  singu- 
larly transcendental  investigations,  of  which  I  understood  lit- 
tle or  nothing.  However,  I  observed  the  principal  words,  and 
when  drawn  into  a  conversation,  replied  with  a  grave  air — 
Treedom,  Fatherland,  Nationality.'  "  He  attends  the  lectures 
of  a  celebrated  professor,  whose  profundity  of  thought  and 
terseness  of  style  are  so  astounding,  that  the  German  world 
set  him  down  as  possessed ;  the  critical  student,  however,  differs 
somewhat  from  that  conclusion,  observing — 

"I  have  borne  a  great  deal  in  the  world.  I  have  even  en- 
tered into  swine,"  ("The  devil,"  said  Luther,  "knows  Scripture 
well  and  he  uses  it  in  argument")  "but  into  such  a  philosopher? 
No,  indeed!     I  had  rather  be  excused." 

The  episode  here  reprinted  occurred  in  a  hotel  in  Frankfort, 
where  our  incognito  is  known  as  Herr  von  Natas  (which,  it  will 
be  noticed,  is  his  more  familiar  name  read  backwards).  His 
brilliant  powers  of  conversation,  his  adroit  flattery,  courteous 
gallantry,  and  elegant,  though  wayward  flights  of  imagina- 
tion, soon  rendered  him  the  delight  of  the  whole  table  d'hote. 
All  guests,  including  our  author,  were  fascinated  by  the 
mysterious  stranger.  But  we  will  let  the  author  himself  tell  his 
story. 


[288] 


ST.    JOHN'S    EVE 
BY  NIKOLAI  VASILEVICH  GOGOL 

This  story,  taken  from  Evenings  on  a  Farm  near  Dikanka,  a 
series  of  sketches  of  the  life  of  the  Ukrainian  peasants,  offers  a 
good  illustration  of  the  author's  art,  which  was  a  combination 
of  the  romantic  and  realistic  elements.  In  these  pages  Gogol 
wished  to  record  the  myths  and  legends  still  current  among 
the  plain  folk  of  his  beloved  Ukrainia.  The  devil  naturally 
enough  peeps  out  here  and  there  through  the  pages  of  this 
book.  Gogol's  devil  is  a  product  of  the  Russian  soil,  "the 
spirit  of  mischief  and  cunning,  whom  Russian  literature  is  al- 
ways trying  to  outplay  and  overcome  "  (Mme.  Jarintzow,  Rus- 
sian Poets  and  Poems), 

According  to  European  superstition  St.  John's  Eve  is  the 
only  evening  in  the  year  when  his  Satanic  Majesty  reveals  him- 
self in  his  proper  shape  to  the  eyes  of  men.  If  you  wish  to 
behold  his  Highness  face  to  face,  stand  on  St.  John's  Eve  at  mid- 
night near  a  mustard-plant.  It  is  suggested  by  Sir  James 
Frazer  in  his  Golden  Bough  that,  in  the  chilly  air  of  the  upper 
world,  this  prince  from  a  warmer  clime  may  be  attracted  by 
the  warmth  of  the  mustard. 

It  is  believed  in  many  parts  of  Europe  that  treasures  can  be 
found  on  St.  John's  Eve  by  means  of  the  fern-seed.  Even  with- 
out the  use  of  this  plant  treasures  are  sometimes  said  to  bloom 
or  burn  in  the  earth,  or  to  reveal  their  presence  by  a  bluish 
flame  on  Midsummer  Eve.  As  guardian  of  treasures  the  devil 
is  the  successor  of  the  gnome. 

[289] 


THE    DEVIL'S    WAGER 
BY  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

The  Devil's  Wager  is  Thackeray's  earliest  attempt  at  story- 
writing,  was  contributed  to  a  weekly  literary  paper  with  the  im- 
posing title  The  National  Standard,  and  Journal  of  Literature, 
Science,  Music,  Theatricals,  and  the  Fine  Arts,  of  which  he 
was  proprietor  and  editor,  and  was  reprinted  in  the  Paris 
Sketch  Book  (1840).  The  story  first  ended  with  the  very 
Thackerayesque  touch :  "The  moral  of  this  story  will  be  given 
in  several  successive  numbers."  In  the  Paris  Sketch  Book  the 
last  three  words  are  changed  into  "the  second  edition."  This 
comical  tale  was  illustrated  by  an  excellent  wood-cut,  repre- 
senting the  devil  as  sailing  through  the  air,  dragging  after 
him  the  fat  Sir  Roger  de  Rollo  by  means  of  his  tail,  which  is 
wound  round  Sir  Roger's  neck. 

In  the  "Advertisement  to  the  First  Edition"  of  his  Paris 
Sketch  Book,  Thackeray  admits  the  French  origin  of  this  as 
well  as  of  his  other  devil-story.  The  Painter's  Bargain,  to  be 
found  in  the  same  volume.  It  was  Thackeray's  good  fortune  to 
live  in  Paris  during  the  wildest  and  most  brilliant  years  of 
Romanticism;  and  while  his  attitude  towards  this  movement 
and  its  leaders,  as  presented  in  the  Paris  Sketch  Book,  is  not 
wholly  sympathetic,  he  is  indebted  to  it  for  his  interest  in 
supernatural  subjects.  The  Romanticism  of  Thackeray  has 
been  denied  with  great  obstinacy  and  almost  passion,  for  like 
Heinrich  Heine,  the  chief  of  German  Romantic  ironists,  he 
poked  fun  at  this  movement.  But  "to  laugh  at  what  you  love," 
as  Mr.  George  Saintsbury  has  pointed  out  in  his  History  of 

[290] 


NOTES 


the  trench  Novel,  "is  not  only  permissible,  but  a  sign  of  the 
love  itself." 

Mercurius  makes  a  pun  on  the  familiar  quotation  "rara  avis" 
from  Horace  {Sat.  2,  2.  26) ,  where  it  means  a  rare  bird.  This 
expression  is  commonly  applied  to  a  singular  person.  It  is 
also  found  in  the  Satires  of  Juvenal  (VI,  165) . 


[291] 


THE    PAINTER'S    BARGAIN 
BY  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

The  belief  in  compacts  with  the  devil  is  of  great  antiquity. 
Satan,  contending  with  God  for  the  possession  of  the  human 
race,  was  supposed  to  have  developed  a  passion  for  catching 
souls.  At  the  death  of  every  man  a  real  fight  takes  place  over 
his  soul  between  an  angel,  who  wishes  to  lead  it  to  heaven,  and 
a  devil,  who  attempts  to  drag  it  to  hell  (Jude  9).  In  order  to 
assure  the  soul  for  himself  in  advance,  Satan  attempts  to  pur- 
chase it  from  the  owner  while  he  is  still  living — vivente  cor- 
pore,  as  he  tells  the  restaurateur  in  Poe's  story.  As  prince  of 
this  world  he  can  easily  grant  even  the  most  extravagant  wishes 
of  man  in  exchange  for  his  soul.  Ofl&ce,  wealth  and  pleasure 
are  mainly  the  objects  for  which  a  man  enters  into  a  pact  with 
the  Evil  One.  Count  de  Luizzi  in  Frederic  Soulie's  Les  Me- 
moires  du  Diable  sells  his  soul  to  the  devil  for  an  uncommon 
consideration.  It  is  not  wealth  or  pleasure  that  tempts  him. 
What  he  wants  in  exchange  for  his  soul  is  to  know  the  past 
lives  of  his  fellowmen  and  women,  "a  thing,"  as  Mr.  Saints- 
bury  well  remarks,  "which  a  person  of  sense  and  taste  would 
do  anything,  short  of  selling  himself  to  the  devil,  not  to  know." 
The  devil  fulfils  every  wish  of  his  contractor  for  a  stipulated 
period  of  time,  at  the  expiration  of  which  the  soul  becomes  his. 
Pope  Innocent  VIII,  in  his  fatal  bull  "Summis  desiderantes"  of 
the  year  1484,  ofl&cially  recognized  the  possibility  of  a  compact 
with  the  devil.  Increase  Mather,  the  New  England  preacher, 
also  aflfirms  that  many  men  have  made  "cursed  covenants  with 
the  prince  of  darkness." 

[292] 


NOTES 


St.  Theophilus,  of  Cilicia,  in  the  sixth  century,  was  the  first 
to  make  the  notable  discovery  that  a  man  could  enter  into  a 
pact  of  this  nature.  The  price  he  set  for  his  soul  was  a  bish- 
opric. This  story  has  been  superseded  during  the  Renaissance 
period  by  a  similar  legend  concerning  the  German  Dr.  Faustus. 
Other  famous  personages  reputed  to  have  sold  their  souls  to 
the  devil  for  one  consideration  or  another  are  Don  Juan  in 
Spain,  Twardowski  in  Poland,  Merlin  in  England,  and  Robert 
le  Diable  in  France.  Socrates,  Apuleius,  Scaliger  and  Cag- 
liostro  are  also  said  to  have  entered  into  compacts  with  him. 

In  devil-contracts  the  Evil  One  insists  that  his  human  nego- 
tiator sign  the  deed  with  his  own  blood,  while  the  man  never 
requires  the  devil  to  sign  it  even  in  ink.  The  human  party  to 
the  transaction  has  always  had  full  confidence  in  the  word  of 
the  fiend.  There  is  a  universal  belief  that  the  devil  invariably 
fulfils  his  engagement.  In  no  single  instance  of  folk-lore  has 
Satan  tried  to  evade  the  fulfilment  of  his  share  in  the  agree- 
ment. But  the  man,  in  violation  of  the  written  pact,  has  often 
cheated  the  devil  out  of  his  legal  due  by  technical  quibbles. 
"It  is  peculiar  to  the  German  tradition,"  says  Gustav  Freytag, 
"that  the  devil  endeavours  to  fulfil  zealously  and  honestly  his 
part  of  the  contract;  the  deceiver  is  man."  In  regard  to  fidelity 
to  his  word,  the  father  of  lies  has  always  set  an  example  to  his 
victims.  "You  men,"  said  Satem,  "are  cheats;  you  make  all 
sorts  of  promises  so  long  as  you  need  me,  and  leave  me  in  the 
lurch  as  soon  as  you  have  got  what  you  wanted."  Mediaeval 
man  had  no  scruples  about  his  breach  of  contract  with  the 
devil.  He  always  considered  the  legal  document  signed  with 
his  own  blood  as  "a  scrap  of  paper."  "But  still  the  pact  is 
with  the  enemy;  the  man  is  not  bound  beyond  the  letter,  and 
may  escape  by  any  trick.  It  is  still  the  ethics  of  war.  We  are 
very  close  to  the  principle  that  a  man  by  stratagem  or  narrow 
observance  of  the  letter  may  escape  the  eternal  retribution 
which  God  decrees  conditionally  and  the  devil  delights  in" 

[293] 


NOTES 


(H.  D.  Taylor,  Mediaeval  Mind) »  We  now  can  understand 
why  in  Eugene  Field's  story  "Daniel  and  the  Devil"  it  seems  to 
Satan  so  strange  that  he  should  be  asked  for  a  written  guar- 
antee that  he  too  would  fulfil  his  part  of  the  contract.  Ap- 
parently this  was  the  first  time  that  the  devil  had  any  transac- 
tions with  an  American  business  man,  who  has  not  even  faith 
in  Old  Nick. 

Reference  is  made  in  this  story  by  the  devil  himself  to  the 
popular  saying  that  the  devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted. 
Even  the  devout  George  Herbert  wrote 


"We  paint  the  devil  black,  yet  he 
Hath  some  good  in  him  all  agree." 


This  story  recalls  to  us  the  proverb :  "Talk  of  the  devil,  and 
he  will  either  come  or  send." 

Washington  Irving,  as  we  have  seen,  thinks  that  he  is  not 
always  very  obliging. 

Satan,  the  father  of  lies,  is  said  to  be  the  patron  of  lawyers. 
The  men  of  the  London  bar  formed  a  "Temple"  corps,  which 
was  dubbed  "The  Devil's  Own."  The  tavern  of  the  lawyers  on 
Fleet  Street  in  London  was  called  "The  Devil." 


[294] 


BON-BON 

BY   EDGAR  ALLAN   POE 

This  writer,  to  whom  the  inner  world  was  more  of  a  reality 
than  the  external  world,  had  many  visions,  especially  of  the 
devil.  The  two  seem  to  have  been  on  a  familiar  footing.  The 
devil,  we  must  admit,  filled  Poe's  imagination  even  if  we  will 
not  go  so  far  as  to  agree  with  his  critics  that  he  had  Satan  sub- 
stituted for  soul.  His  contemporaries,  as  is  well  known,  would 
say  of  him:  "He  hath  a  demon,  yea,  seven  devils  are  entered 
into  him."  His  detractors  actually  regarded  this  unhappy  poet 
as  an  incarnation  of  the  ruler  of  Hades  (cf.  North  American 
Review,  1856;  Edinburgh  Review,  1858;  Dublin  University 
Magazine,  1875) .  It  was  but  recently  that  a  writer  in  the  New 
York  Times  declared  Poe  to  have  been  "grub-staked  by  de- 
mons." 

The  story  "Bon-Bon"  offers  a  specimen  of  Poe's  grimly  gro- 
tesque humour.  It  first  appeared  in  the  Broadway  Journal  of 
August,  1835. 

The  devil  of  this  most  un-American  of  all  American  authors 
is  not  the  child  of  New  World  fancy,  but  part  of  European 
imagination.  The  scenery  of  the  story  is  aptly  laid  in  the 
land  of  Robert  le  Diable. 

Poe's  description  of  the  devil  is,  on  the  whole,  fully  in 
acco  d  with  the  universally  accredited  conception  of  his  ordi- 
na  y  appearance.  His  brutal  hoofs  and  savage  horns  and 
beastly  tail  are  all  there,  only  discreetly  hid  under  a  dress 
which  any  gentleman  might  wear.  The  devil  is  very  proud  of 
this  epithet  given  him  by  William   Shakespeare;    and   from 

[295] 


NOTES 


that  time  on,  it  has  been  his  greatest  ambition  to  be  a  gentle- 
man, in  outer  appearance  at  least;  and  to  his  credit  it  must 
be  said  that  he  has  so  well  succeeded  in  his  efforts  to  resemble 
a  gentleman  that  it  is  now  very  hard  to  tell  the  two  apart.  The 
devil  is  accredited  in  popular  imagination  with  long  ears,  a 
long  (sometimes  upturned)  nose,  a  wide  mouth,  and  teeth  of  a 
lion.  It  is  on  account  of  his  fangs  that  Satan  has  been  called 
a  lion  by  the  biblical  writers.  But  although  the  prince  of  dark- 
ness can  assume  any  form  in  the  heavens  above,  in  the  earth 
beneath,  and  in  the  waters  under  the  earth,  he  has  never  ap- 
peared as  a  lion.  This,  I  believe,  is  out  of  deference  to  Judah, 
whom  his  father  also  called  a  lion.  Hairiness  is  a  pretty  gen- 
eral characteristic  of  the  devil.  His  hairy  skin  he  probably  in- 
herited from  the  ancient  fauns  and  satyrs.  Esau  is  believed  to 
have  been  a  hairy  demon.  "Old  Harry"  is  a  corruption  of 
"Old  Hairy."  As  a  rule.  Old  Nick  is  not  pictured  as  bald, 
but  has  a  head  covered  with  locks  like  serpents.  These  snaky 
tresses,  which  already  "Monk"  Lewis  wound  around  the  devil's 
head,  are  borrowed,  according  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  from  the 
shield  of  Minerva.  His  face,  however,  is  usually  hairless.  A 
beard  has  rarely  been  accorded  to  Satan.  His  red  beard  on  the 
mediaeval  stage  probably  came  from  Donar,  whom,  as  Jacob 
Grimm  says,  the  modern  notions  of  the  devil  so  often  have  in 
the  background.  Long  bearded  devils  are  nowhere  normal  ex- 
cept in  the  representations  of  the  Eastern  Church  of  the  mon- 
arch of  hell  as  counterpart  of  the  monarch  of  heaven.  The 
eyeless  devil  is  original  with  our  writer.  His  disciple  Baude- 
laire in  his  story  Les  Tentations  ou  tros,  Plutus  et  la  Gloire 
presents  the  second  of  these  three  Tempters  as  an  eyeless  mon- 
ster. The  mediaeval  devil  had  saucer  eyes.  According  to  a 
Russian  legend,  the  all-seeing  spirit  of  evil  is  all  covered  with 
eyes.  The  cadaverous  aspect  of  the  devil  is  traditional.  With 
but  one  remarkable  exception  (the  Egyptian  Typhon),  demons 
are  always  represented  lean.     "A  devil,"  said  Caesarius  of 

[2961 


NOTES 


Heisterbach  of  the  thirteenth  century,  "is  usually  so  thin  as  to 
cast  no  shadow"  (Dialogus  Miraculorum,  iii) .  This  character- 
istic is  a  heritage  of  the  ancient  hunger-demon,  who,  himself  a 
shadow,  casts  no  shadow.  In  the  course  of  the  centuries,  how- 
ever, the  devil  has  gained  flesh.  His  faded  suit  of  black  cloth 
recalls  the  mediaeval  devil  who  appeared  "in  his  fethers  all 
ragged  and  rent." 

It  is  not  altogether  improbable  that  the  ecclesiastical  appear- 
ance of  the  devil  in  this  story  was  not  wholly  unintentional,  as 
the  author  believes.  While  Satan  cannot  be  said  to  be  "  one  of 
those  who  take  to  the  ministry  mostly,"  he  often  likes  to  slip 
into  priestly  robes.  In  the  "Temptation  of  Jesus"  by  Lucas  van 
Leyden  the  devil  is  habited  as  a  monk  with  a  pointed  cowl. 

In  the  comparison  of  a  soul  with  a  shadow  there  is  a  rem- 
iniscence of  Adalbert  von  Chamisso,  whose  Peter  Schlemihl 
(1814)  sells  his  shadow  to  the  devil.  In  his  story  The  Fisher- 
man and  His  Soul  Oscar  Wilde  considers  the  shadow  of  the 
body  as  the  body  of  the  soul. 

That  the  devils  in  hell  eat  the  damned  consigned  there  for 
punishment  is  also  in  accord  with  mediaeval  tradition.  This 
idea  probably  is  of  Oriental  origin.  The  seven  Assyrian  evil 
spirits  have  a  predilection  for  human  flesh  and  blood.  Ghouls 
and  vampires  belong  to  this  class  of  demons. 

The  devil's  pitchfork  is  not  the  forked  sceptre  of  Pluto  sup- 
plemented by  another  tine,  as  is  commonly  assumed.  It  is  the 
ancient  sign  of  fertility,  which  is  still  used  as  a  fertility  charm 
by  the  Hindus  in  India  and  the  Zuni  and  Aztec  Indians  of  North 
America  and  Mexico.  A  related  symbol  is  the  trident  of 
Poseidon  or  Neptune.  This  symbol  was  recently  carried  in  a 
children's  May  Day  parade  through  Central  Park  in  New  York. 


[297] 


THE    PRINTER'S    DEVIL 

The  term  "Printer's  Devil"  is  usually  accounted  for  by  the 
fact  that  Aldus  Manutius,  the  great  Venetian  printer,  employed 
in  his  printing  shop  (about  1485)  a  black  slave,  who  was 
popularly  thought  to  be  an  imp  of  Satan.  This  expression 
may  have  a  deeper  significance.  It  may  owe  its  origin  to 
the  fact  that  Fust,  the  inventor  of  the  printing  press,  was  be- 
lieved to  have  connections  with  the  Evil  One.  It  will  be  re- 
membered that  during  the  Middle  Ages  and,  in  Catholic  coun- 
tries, even  for  a  long  time  afterwards  every  discovery  of  science, 
every  invention  of  material  benefit  to  man,  was  believed  to 
have  been  secured  by  a  compact  with  the  devil.  Our  ancestors 
deemed  the  human  mind  incapable,  without  the  aid  of  the  Evil 
One,  of  producing  anything  beyond  their  own  comprehen- 
sion. The  red  letters  which  Fust  used  at  the  close  of  his 
earliest  printed  volumes  to  give  his  name,  with  the  place  and 
date  of  publication,  were  interpreted  in  Paris  as  indications  of 
the  diabolical  origin  of  the  works  so  easily  produced  by  him. 
(M.  D.  Conway,  Demonology  and  Devil-Lore.)  Sacred  days, 
as  is  well  known,  are  printed  in  the  Catholic  calendar  with 
red  letters,  and  the  devil  has  also  employed  them  in  books  of 
magic.  This  is  but  another  instance  of  the  mimicry  by  "God's 
Ape"  of  the  sanctities  of  the  Church. 

In  the  infernal  economy,  where  a  strict  division  of  labour 
prevails,  the  printer's  devil  is  the  librarian  of  hell.  The  books 
over  which  he  has  charge  must  be  as  numerous  as  the  sands 
on  the  sea-shore.  For  nearly  every  book  written  without 
priestly  command  was  associated  in  the  good  old  days  with  the 
devil.  The  assertion  that  Satan  hates  nothing  so  much  as  writ- 
ing or  printer's  ink  apparently  is  a  very  great  calumny.  He 
has  often  even  been  accused  of  stealing  manuscripts  in  order  to 

[298] 


NOTES 


prevent  their  publication.  The  prince  of  darkness  naturally 
rather  shuns  than  courts  inquiry.  On  one  occasion  Joseph 
Gorres,  the  defender  of  Catholicism,  complained  that  the  devil, 
pfovoked  by  his  interference  in  Satanic  affairs  (he  is  the 
author  of  Die  christliche  Mystik,  which  is  a  rich  source  for 
diabolism,  diabolical  possession  and  exorcism) ,  had  stolen  one 
of  his  manuscripts;  it  was,  however,  found  some  time  after- 
wards in  his  bookcase,  and  the  devil  was  completely  exon- 
erated. 

The  concluding  paragraph  of  this  story  is  especially  inter- 
esting in  the  light  of  the  present  agitation  for  unbound  books 
and  a  eulogy  af  the  old  Franklin  Square  Library. 


[299] 


THE    DEVIL'S    MOTHER-IN-LAW 
BY  FERNAN   CABALLERO 

Fernan  Caballero  is  the  pseudonym  of  Mrs.  Cecilia  Bohl  von 
Faber,  Marchioness  de  Arco-Hermoso,  who  was  a  Swiss  by 
birth,  daughter  of  the  literary  historian  Johann  Bohl  von  Faber, 
the  Johannes  of  Campe's  Robinson  (1779).  Her  father  in- 
itiated her  early  into  Spanish  literature,  which  he  interpreted 
for  her  in  the  spirit  of  the  Romantic  movement  of  those  early 
days.  The  interest  in  mediaeval  traditions,  which  she  owes  to 
this  early  training,  increased  when,  later,  she  went  to  Catholic 
Spain.  The  charm  of  her  popular  Andalusian  tales  consists 
in  the  fact  that  she  fully  shares  with  the  Catholic  peasants  of 
that  province  an  implicit  faith  in  the  truth  of  these  mediaeval 
legends.  In  her  stories  we  find  perhaps  the  purest  expression 
of  mediaevalism  in  modem  times.  Fernan  Caballero  grad- 
ually drifted  to  the  extreme  Right  in  all  questions  of  religion, 
art  and  life.  She  hated  every  liberal  expression  in  matters  of 
faith  or  art  with  the  fanaticism  of  a  Torquemada.  This  author 
not  only  shared  the  somewhat  general  Catholic  view  that  all 
Protestants  were  eternally  damned,  but  she  naively  believed 
that  every  son  of  Israel  had  a  tail  (Julian  Schmidt) . 

The  story  of  woman's  triumph  over  the  Devil  is  well  charac- 
teristic of  the  Land  of  the  Blessed  Lady,  as  Andalusia  is  com- 
monly called. 

The  legend  of  a  devil  imprisoned  in  a  phial  is  also  found  in 
the  work  of  the  Spaniard  Luis  Velez  de  Guevara  called  El 
Diablo  cojuelo  (1641),  from  whom  Alain  Le  Sage  borrowed 
both  title  and  plot  for  his  novel  Le  Diable  boiteux  (1707). 

[300] 


NOTES 


Asmodeus,  liberated  from  a  bottle,  into  which  he  had  been 
Confined  by  a  magician,  entertains  his  deliverer  with  the  secret 
sights  of  a  big  city  at  midnight,  by  imroofing  the  houses  of 
the  Spanish  capital  and  showing  him  the  life  that  was  going 
on  in  them.  The  legend  was  introduced  into  Spain  from  the 
East  by  the  Moors  and  finally  acclimated  to  find  a  place  in 
local  traditions.  From  that  country  it  spread  over  the  whole 
of  Europe.  The  Asiatics  believed  that  by  abstinence  and  spe- 
cial prayers  evil  spirits  could  be  reduced  into  obedience  and 
confined  in  black  bottles.  The  tradition  forms  a  part  of  the 
Solomonic  lore,  and  is  frequently  told  in  esoteric  works.  In 
the  cabalistic  book  Vinculum  Spirituum,  which  is  of  Eastern 
origin,  it  is  said  that  Solomon  discovered,  by  means  of  a  cer- 
tain learned  book,  the  valuable  secret  of  inclosing  in  a  bottle 
of  black  glass  three  millions  of  infernal  spirits,  with  seventy- 
two  of  their  kings,  of  whom  Beleh  was  the  chief,  Beliar  {alias 
Belial)  the  second,  and  Asmodeus  the  third.  Solomon  after- 
wards cast  this  bottle  into  a  deep  well  near  Babylon.  Fortu- 
nately for  the  contents,  the  Babylonians,  hoping  to  find  a 
treasure  in  the  well,  descended  into  it,  broke  the  bottle,  and 
freed  the  demons  (cf.  also  The  Little  Key  of  Rabbi  Solomon, 
containing  the  Names,  Seals  and  Characters  of  the  72  Spirits 
with  whom  he  held  converse,  also  the  Art  Almadel  of  Rabbi 
Solomon,  carefully  copied  by  "Raphael,"  London,  1879). 
This  legend  is  also  found  in  the  tale  of  the  Fisherman  and  the 
Djinn  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  which  was  also  treated  by  the 
German  poet  Klopstock  in  his  poem  "Wintermarchen"  (1776). 

The  devil,  as  it  is  said  in  this  story,  has  a  mortal  hatred  of 
the  sound  of  bells.  The  origin  of  ringing  the  church  bells 
was,  according  to  Sir  James  Frazer,  to  drive  away  devils  and 
witches.  The  devil  in  Poe's  story  "The  Devil  in  the  Belfry" 
(1839)   was,  indeed,  very  courageous  in  invading  the  belfry. 

The  concluding  part  of  the  story  is  identical  with  the 
Machiavellian  tale  of  Belphagor. 

[301] 


NOTES 


This  tale  of  the  Devil's  mather-in-law  first  appeared  in  the 
volume  Cuentos  y  poesias  popular es  Andaluces  (Seville, 
1859),  which  was  translated  the  same  year  into  French  by 
Germond  de  Lavigne  under  the  title  Nouvelles  andalouses.  An 
English  translation  under  the  title  Spanish  Fairy  Tales  ap- 
peared in  1881.  This  particular  story  was  rendered  again 
into  English  two  years  later  and  included  in  Tales  from  Twelve 
Tongues,  translated  by  a  British  Museum  Librarian  [Richard 
Garnett  ?],  London,  1883. 


[302] 


THE   GENEROUS   GAMBLER 
BY   CHARLES  PIERRE   BAUDELAIRE 

This  worshipper  and  singer  of  Satan  shared  his  American 
confrere's  predilection  for  the  devil.  He  found  his  models  in 
the  diabolical  scenes  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  whom  he  interpreted 
to  the  Latin  world.  "Baudelaire,"  said  Theophile  Gautier,  his 
master  and  friend,  "had  a  singular  prepossession  for  the  devil 
as  a  tempter,  in  whom  he  saw  a  dragon  who  hurried  him  into 
sin,  infamy,  crime,  and  perversity."  To  Baudelaire,  the  trier 
of  men's  souls,  the  Tempter,  was  as  real  a  person  as  he  was  to 
Job.  He  believed  that  the  devil  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
the  direction  of  human  destinies.  "C'est  le  Diable  qui  tient 
les  fils  qui  nous  remuent!"  Men  are  mere  puppets  in  the 
hands  of  the  devil.  "Baudelaire's  motto,"  as  Mr.  James 
Huneker  has  well  remarked,  "might  be  the  reverse  of  Brown- 
ing's lines:  The  Devil  is  in  his  heaven.  All's  wrong  with  the 
world." 

Baudelaire's  devil  is  a  dandy  and  a  boulevardier  with  wings. 
Each  author,  it  has  been  said,  creates  the  devil  in  his  own  image. 

The  greatest  boon  which  Satan  could  offer  Baudelaire  was  to 
free  him  from  that  great  modern  monster.  Ennui,  which  selects 
as  its  prey  the  most  highly  gifted  natures.  The  boredom  of 
life — this  was,  indeed,  as  this  unhappy  poet  admits,  the  source 
of  all  his  maladies  and  of  all  his  miseries.  He  called  it  the 
"foulest  of  vices"  and  hoped  to  escape  from  it  "by  dreaming 
of  the  superlative  emotional  adventure,  by  indulging  in  infinite, 
indeterminate  desire"  (Irving  Babbit).  His  preface  to  the 
Flowers  of  Evil,  in  which  he  addresses  the  reader,  ends  with 

[303] 


NOTES 


the  following  statement  in  regard  to  the  nature  of  this  modern 
beast  of  prey:  "Among  the  jackals,  the  panthers,  the  hounds, 
the  apes,  the  scorpions,  the  vultures,  the  serpents — the  yelling, 
howling,  growling,  grovelling  monsters  which  form  the  foul 
menagerie  of  our  vices — there  is  one  which  is  the  most  foul, 
the  most  wicked,  the  most  unclean  of  all.  This  vice,  although 
it  uses  neither  extravagant  gestures  nor  makes  a  great  outcry, 
would  willingly  make  a  ruin  of  the  earth,  and  swallow  up  all 
the  world  in  a  yawn.  This  is  Ennui!  who,  with  his  eye  mois- 
tened by  an  involuntary  tear,  dreams  of  scaffolds  while  smok- 
ing his  hookah.  Thou  knowest  him,  this  delicate  monster, 
hypocritical  reader,  my  like,  my  brother!" 

In  Gorky's  story  "The  Devil"  the  devil  himself  suffers  from 
ennui. 

But  Baudelaire  believed  he  had  good  reason  to  doubt  Satan's 
word,  and,  therefore,  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  make  the  devil 
keep  his  promise  to  him.  He  had  little  faith  in  the  father  of 
lies.  In  his  book  called  Artificial  Paradises  (1860)  Baude- 
laire expressed  the  thought  that  the  devil  would  say  to  the 
eaters  of  hashish,  the  smokers  of  opium,  as  he  did  in  the  olden 
days  to  our  first  parents,  "If  you  taste  of  the  fruit,  you  will  be 
as  the  gods,"  and  that  the  devil  no  more  kept  his  word  with 
them  than  he  did  with  Adam  and  Eve,  for  the  next  day,  the 
god,  tempted,  weakened,  enervated,  descended  even  lower  than 
the  beast. 

The  representation  of  the  devil  in  the  shape  of  a  he-goat 
goes  back  to  far  antiquity.  Goat-formed  deities  and  spirits  of 
the  woods  existed  in  the  religions  of  India,  Assyria,  Greece 
and  Egypt.  The  Assyrian  god  was  often  associated  with  the 
goat,  which  was  supposed  to  possess  the  qualities  for  which 
he  was  worshipped.  The  he-goat  was  also  the  sacred  beast 
of  Donar  or  Thor,  who  was  brought  to  Scandinavia  by  the 
Phoenicians.  (On  the  relation  of  satyrs  to  goats  see  also  James 
G.  Frazer,  The  Golden  Bough,  vol.  VIII,  pp.  Isqq.)     At  the 

[304] 


NOTES 


revels  on  the  Blocksberg  Satan  always  appeared  as  a  black 
Luck. 

Le  hon  diable,  which  is  a  favourite  phrase  in  France,  points 
to  his  simplicity  of  mind  rather  than  generosity  of  spirit.  It 
generally  expresses  the  half-contemptuous  pity  with  which  the 
giants,  these  huge  beings  with  weak  minds,  were  regarded. 

The  idea  that  Satan  would  gamble  for  a  human  soul  is  of 
mediaeval  origin  and  may  have  been  taken  by  Baudelaire 
from  Gerard  de  Nerval,  who  in  his  mystery  play  Le  Prince  des 
Sots  (1830)  has  the  devil  play  at  dice  with  an  angel,  with 
human  souls  as  stakes.  As  a  dice-player  Satan  resembles 
Wuotan.  Mr.  H.  G.  Wells  in  The  Undying  Fire  (1919)  has 
Diabolus  play  chess  with  the  Deity  in  Heaven. 

The  devil  in  this  story  falls  back  into  speaking  Hebrew  when 
the  days  of  his  ancient  celestial  glory  are  brought  back  to  his 
mind.  In  Louis  Menard's  Le  Diahle  au  cafe  the  devil  calls 
Hebrew  a  dead  language,  and  as  a  modern  prefers  to  be  called 
by  the  French  equivalent  of  his  original  Hebrew  name.  In 
the  Middle  Ages  the  devil's  favourite  language  was  Latin. 
Marlowe's  Mephistopheles  also  speaks  this  language.  Satan  is 
known  to  be  a  linguist.  "It  is  the  Devil  by  his  several  lan- 
guages," said  Ben  Jonson. 

According  to  popular  belief  the  devil  is  a  learned  scholar 
and  a  profound  thinker.  He  has  all  science,  philosophy,  and 
theology  at  his  tongue's  end. 

The  Shavian  devil  in  contradistinction  to  the  Baudelairian 
fiend  does  bitterly  complain  that  he  is  so  little  appreciated  on 
earth.  Walter  Scott's  devil  (in  "Wandering  Willie's  Tale," 
1824)  also  complains  that  he  has  been  "sair  miscaa'd  in  the 
world." 

The  preacher  to  whom  our  author  refers  is  the  Jesuit  Ravig- 
nan,  who  declared  that  the  disbelief  in  the  devil  was  one  of  the 
most  cunning  devices  of  the  great  enemy  himself.  (La  plus 
grande  force  du  diable,  c'est  d'etre  parvenu  a  se  faire  nier.) 

[305] 


NOTES 


Baudelaire's  disciple  J.  K.  Huysmans  similarly  expresses  in  his 
novel  La-Bas  ( 1891 )  the  view  that  "the  greatest  power  of  Satan 
lies  in  the  fact  that  he  gets  men  to  deny  him."  (Cf.  the  present 
writer's  essay  "The  Satanism  of  Huysmans"  in  The  Open  Court 
for  April,  1920.)  The  devil  mocks  at  this  theological  dictum 
in  Pierre  Veber's  story  "L'Homme  qui  vendit  son  ame  au 
Diable"  (1918).  In  Perkins's  story  "The  Devil-Puzzlers"  the 
devil  expresses  his  satisfaction  over  his  success  in  this  regard. 
The  story  "The  Generous  Gambler"  first  appeared  in  the 
Figaro  of  February,  1864,  was  reprinted  under  the  title  of  "Le 
Diable"  in  the  Revue  du  Dix-N euvieme  Steele  of  June,  1866, 
and  was  finally  included  in  Poemes  en  Prose.  This  story 
has  also  been  translated  into  English  by  Joseph  T.  Shipley. 


[306] 


THE   THREE   LOW  MASSES 

A    CHRISTMAS    STORY 
BY  ALPHONSE  DAUDET 

Daudet  and  Maupassant  furnish  the  best  proof  of  the  asser- 
tion made  in  the  Introduction  to  this  book  that  even  the  Nat- 
uralists who,  as  a  rule,  disdained  the  phantastic  plots  of  the 
Romanticists,  whose  imagination  was  rigorously  earth-bound, 
felt  themselves  nevertheless  attracted  by  devil-lore.  Although 
most  of  Daudet's  subjects  are  chosen  from  contemporary 
French  life,  this  short-story  treats  a  devil-legend  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  This  story  as  "The  Pope's  Mule"  and  "The 
Elixir  of  the  Reverend  Pere  Gaucher"  obviously  has  no  other 
object  but  to  poke  fun  at  the  Catholic  Church.  It  belongs  to 
the  literary  type  known  as  the  Satirical  Supernatural. 

This  story  is  characteristic  of  Daudet's  art,  containing  as  it 
does  all  of  his  delicacy  and  daintiness  of  pathos,  of  raillery, 
of  humour.  It  originally  appeared  in  that  delightful  group  of 
stories  Lettres  de  Mon  Moulin  (1869) . 

The  horns  and  tail  of  his  Satanic  majesty  peep  out  as  vividly 
in  this  book  as  the  disguised  devils  in  Ingoldsby's  Legend  of 
the  North  Countrie. 

Although  hating  all  men,  the  devil  has  a  special  hatred  for 
the  priests,  and  he  delights  in  bringing  them  to  fall.  Satan 
loathes  the  priests,  because,  as  Anatole  France  says,  they  teach 
that  "God  takes  delight  in  seeing  His  creatures  languish  in 
penitence  and  abstain  from  His  most  precious  gifts"  (Les  Dieux 
ant  soif,  p.  278) . 

[307] 


NOTES 


It  is  evident  from  this  story  that  the  popular  belief  that  the 
devil  avoids  holy  edifices  is  not  based  on  facts.  Here  the  devil 
not  only  enters  the  church,  but  even  performs  the  duties  of  a 
sacristfui  at  the  foot  of  the  altar.  According  to  mediaeval  tra- 
dition the  devil  has  his  agents  even  in  the  churches.  In  the 
administration  of  hell  where  the  tasks  are  carefully  parcelled 
out  among  the  thousands  of  imps,  the  church  has  been  assigned 
to  the  fiend  with  the  poetic  name  of  Tutevillus.  It  is  his  duty 
to  attend  all  services  in  order  to  listen  to  the  gossips  and  to 
write  down  every  word  they  say.  After  death  these  women  are 
entertained  in  hell  with  their  own  speeches,  which  this  diabol- 
ical church  clerk  has  carefully  noted  down.  Tradition  has  it 
that  one  fine  Sunday  this  demon  was  sitting  in  a  church  on  a 
beam,  on  which  he  held  himself  fast  by  his  feet  and  his  tail, 
right  over  two  village  gossips,  who  chattered  so  much  during 
the  Blessed  Mass  that  he  soon  filled  every  corner  of  the  parch- 
ment on  both  sides.  Poor  Tutevillus  worked  so  hard  that  the 
sweat  ran  in  great  drops  down  his  brow,  and  he  was  ready  to 
sink  with  exhaustion.  But  the  gossips  ceased  not  to  sin  with 
their  tongues,  and  he  had  no  fair  parchment  left  whereon  to 
record  their  foul  words.  So  having  considered  for  a  little 
while,  he  grasped  one  end  of  the  roll  with  his  teeth  and  seized 
the  other  end  with  his  claws  and  pulled  so  hard  as  to  stretch 
the  parchment.  He  tugged  and  tugged  with  all  his  strength, 
jerking  back  his  head  mightily  at  each  tug,  and  at  last  giving 
such  a  fierce  jerk  that  he  suddenly  lost  his  balance  and  fell 
head  over  heels  from  the  beam  to  the  floor  of  the  church. 
(From  "The  Vision  of  Saint  Simon  of  Blewberry"  in  F.  0. 
Mann's  collection  of  mediaeval  tales.) 


[308] 


DEVIL-PUZZLERS 

BY  FREDERICK  BEECHER  PERKINS 

Through  Asmodeus  the  devil  became  associated  with  humour 
and  gallantry.  Asmodeus  sharpened  his  wits  in  his  conversa- 
tions with  the  wisest  of  kings.  It  will  be  recalled  that  this 
demon  was  the  familiar  spirit  of  Solomon,  whose  throne,  ac- 
cording to  Jewish  legend,  he  occupied  for  three  years.  Per- 
haps it  was  not  Solomon  after  all  but  this  diabolical  usurper 
who  gathered  around  himself  a  thousand  wives.  It  is  said 
that  Asmodeus  is  as  dangerous  to  women  as  Lilith  is  to  men. 
He  loves  to  decoy  young  girls  in  the  shape  of  a  handsome  young 
man.  His  love  for  the  beautiful  Sarah  is  too  well  known  to 
need  any  comment.  He  is  a  fastidious  devil,  and  will  not 
have  the  object  of  his  passion  subject  to  the  embrace  of  any 
other  mortal  or  immortal. 

Reference  is  made  by  the  author  to  Albert  Reville's  epitome 
of  Georg  Roskoff's  Geschichte  des  Teufels  (Leipzig,  1869),  a 
standard  work  en  the  history  of  the  devil.  The  review  by  this 
French  Protestant  first  appeared  in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes 
for  1870,  and  was  translated  into  English  the  following  year. 
A  second  edition  appeared  six  years  later.  Roskoff's  book, 
on  the  other  hand,  has  never  appeared  in  translation. 

It  is  not  easy  to  grasp  the  scholastic  subtleties  of  mediaeval 
schoolmen.  Dr.  Ethel  Brewster  suggests  the  following  inter- 
pretations: An  chimoera  homhinans  in  vacuo  devorat  secundas 
intentiones.  Whether  a  demon  buzzing  in  the  air  devours  our 
good  intentions.  This  will  correspond  to  our  saying  that  hell 
is  paved  with  good  intentions.     An  averia  carrucae  capta  in 

[309] 


NOTES 


vetito  nomio  sint  irreplegibilia.  Whether  the  carriers  of  a 
[bishop's]  carriage  caught  in  a  forbidden  district  should  be 
punished.  We  can  well  understand  how  even  the  devil  might 
be  puzzled  by  such  questions. 

Professor  Brander  Matthews  aptly  calls  this  story  "diabolic- 
ally philosophical." 


[310] 


THE  DEVIL'S  ROUND 

A  TALE  OF  FLEMISH  GOLF 
BY  CHARLES  DEULIN 

The  modern  devil  is  an  accomplished  gentleman.  He  is  the 
most  all-round  being  in  creation.  Mynheer  van  Belzebuth,  as 
he  is  called  in  this  story,  is  indeed  the  greatest  gambler  that 
there  is  upon  or  under  the  earth.  On  the  golf -field  as  at  the 
roulette-table  he  is  hard  to  beat.  It  was  the  devil  who  in- 
vented cards,  and  they  are,  therefore,  called  the  Devil's 
Bible,  and  it  was  also  he  who  taught  the  Roman  soldiers  how 
to  cast  lots  for  the  raiment  of  Christ  (John  xix,  24).  Dice 
are  also  called  the  devil's  bones. 

The  devil  carries  the  souls  in  a  sack  on  his  back  also  in  the 
legend  of  St.  Medard.  It  is  told  that  this  saint,  while  prome- 
nading one  day  on  the  shore  of  the  Red  Sea  in  Egypt,  saw 
Satan  carrying  a  bag  full  of  damned  souls  on  his  back.  The 
heart  of  this  saint  was  filled  with  compassion  for  the  poor 
souls  and  he  quickly  slit  the  devil's  bag  open,  whereupon  the 
souls  scrambled  for  liberty: 

"Away  went  the  Quaker. — away  went  the  Baker, 
Away  went  the  Friar — that  fine  fat  Ghost, 

Whose  marrow  Old  Nick  Had  intended  to  pick 
Dressed  like  a  Woodcock,  and  served  on  toast! 

"Away  went  the  nice  little  Cardinal's  Niece 
And  the  pretty  Grisettes,  and  the  Dons  from  Spain, 
And  the  Corsair's  crew,  And  the  coin-cliping  Jew, 
And  they  scamper'd,  like  lamplighters,  over  the  plain!" 

The    Witches'    Sabbath    is    the    annual    reunion    of    Satan 

[311] 


NOTES 


and  his  worshippers  on  earth.  The  witches,  mounted  on  goats 
and  broomsticks,  flock  to  desolate  heaths  and  hills  to  hold 
high  revel  with  their  devil. 

Beelzebub  swears  in  this  story  by  the  horns  of  his  grand- 
father. While  the  devil  is  known  to  have  a  grandmother,  there 
has  never  been  found  a  trace  of  his  grandfather.  Satan  has 
probably  been  adopted  by  the  grandmother  of  Grendel,  the 
Anglo-Saxon  evil  demon.  The  horns  have  been  inherited  by 
Satan  from  Dionysos.  This  Greek  god  had  bull-feet  and  bull's 
horns. 

The  reader,  who  is  interested  in  the  origin  of  the  European 
Carnival  (Shrove  Tuesday)  customs,  is  referred  to  the  editor's 
monograph  The  Origin  of  the  German  Carnival  Comedy  (New 
York:  G.  E.  Stechert  &  Co.,  1920). 


[312] 


THE   LEGEND   OF  MONT   ST.-MICHEL 
BY   GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

No  greater  proof  of  the  permanence  and  persistence  of  the 
devil  as  a  character  in  literature  can  be  adduced  than  the  fact 
that  this  writer,  in  whom  we  find  the  purest  expression  of  Nat- 
uralism, for  whom  the  visible  world  was  absolutely  all  that 
there  is,  was  attracted  by  a  devil-legend.  But  on  this  point 
he  had  a  good  example  in  his  god-father  and  master  Gustavo 
Flaubert,  who,  though  a  realist  of  realists,  showed  deep  inter- 
est in  the  Tempter  of  St.  Anthony. 

This  legend  of  the  fraudulent  bargain  between  a  sprite  and 
a  farmer  as  to  alternate  upper-  and  under-ground  crops,  with 
which  "the  great  vision  of  the  guarded  mount"  is  here  con- 
nected, is  of  Northern  origin,  but  has  travelled  South  as  far  as 
Arabia.  It  will  be  found  in  Grimm's  Fairy  Tales  (No.  189) ; 
Thiele's  Danish  Legends  (No.  122),  and  T.  Sternberg's  The 
Dialect  and  Folk-Lore  of  Northampshire  (p.  140).  Rabelais 
used  it  as  a  French  legend,  and  in  its  Oriental  form  it  served 
as  a  subject  for  a  poem  by  the  German  Friedrich  Riickert  ("Der 
betrogene  Teufel").  In  all  these  versions  the  agreement  is 
entered  into  between  the  devil  (in  the  Northampshire  form  it 
is  a  bogie  or  some  other  field  spirit)  and  a  peasant.  It  was 
reserved  for  Maupassant  to  make  St.  Michael  get  the  better 
of  Satan  on  earth  as  in  heaven. 

According  to  this  legend  the  devil  broke  his  leg  when,  in  his 
flight  from  St.  Michael,  he  jumped  off  the  roof  of  the  castle 
into  which  he  had  been  lured  by  the  saint.  The  traditional 
explanation  for  the  devil's  broken  leg  is  his  fall  from  heaven. 

[313] 


NOTES 


"I  beheld  Satan  as  lightning  fall  from  heaven"  (Luke  x,  18). 
All  rebellious  deities,  who  were  universally  supposed  to  have 
fallen  from  heaven,  have  crooked  or  crippled  legs.  Hephae- 
stos,  Vulcan,  Loki  and  Wieland,  each  has  a  broken  leg. 
This  idea  has  probably  been  derived  from  the  crooked  light- 
ning flashes.  The  devil's  mother  in  the  mediaeval  German 
mystery-plays  walks  on  crutches.  Asmodeus,  the  Persian 
demon  Aeshma  daeva,  also  had  a  lame  foot.  In  Le  Sage's 
book  Le  Diable  boiteux  Asmodeus  appears  as  a  limping  gen- 
tleman, who  uses  two  sticks  as  crutches.  According  to  rab- 
binical tradition  this  demon  broke  his  leg  when  he  hurried  to 
meet  King  Solomon.  In  addition  to  his  broken  leg  the  devil 
inherited  the  goat-foot  from  Pan,  the  bull-foot  from  Dionysius 
and  the  horse-foot  from  Loki.  The  Ethiopic  devil's  right  foot 
is  a  claw,  and  his  left  a  hoof. 

•  The  devil  is  erroneously  represented  in  this  story  as  very 
lazy.  Industry,  it  has  been  said,  is  the  great  Satanic  virtue. 
"If  we  were  all  as  diligent  and  as  conscientious  as  the  devil," 
observed  an  old  Scotch  woman  to  her  minister,  "it  wad  be 
muckle  better  for  us." 

The  highest  peak  of  a  mountain  is  always  consecrated  to 
St.  Michael.  The  Mont  St.-Michel  on  the  Norman  Coast 
played  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  wars  of  the  sons  of  William 
the  Conqueror.  Maupassant  uses  it  as  the  background  for  sev- 
eral of  the  chapters  of  his  novel  Notre  Coeur  (1890).  The 
mountain  also  figures  in  his  story  "Le  Horla"  (1886). 


[3141 


THE  DEMON  POPE 
BY  RICHARD   GARNETT 

The  following  two  stories  by  Richard  Gamett  have  been 
taken  from  his  book  The  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  which  was  first 
published  anonymously  in  1888,  and  in  a  "new  and  augmented 
edition,"  with  the  author's  name,  in  1902.  The  title  recalls 
Richard  Wagner's  opera  Gotterddmmerung,  but  may  have  been 
directly  suggested  by  Elemir  Bourges,  whose  novel  Le  Crepu- 
scule  des  dieux  appeared  four  years  earlier  than  Garnett's 
collection  of  stories.  In  his  book  Richard  Garnett  plays  havoc 
with  all  religions.  The  demons,  naturally  enough,  fare  worse 
at  his  hands  than  the  gods.  The  Twilight  of  the  Gods  is  a 
panorama  of  human  folly  and  farce.  Franz  Cumont  has  said 
that  human  folly  is  a  more  interesting  study  than  ancient  wis- 
dom. The  author  finds  a  great  joy  in  pointing  out  all  the  mys- 
terious cobwebs  which  have  collected  on  the  ceiling  of  man's 
brain  in  the  course  of  the  ages.  Mr.  Arthur  Symons  rightly 
calls  this  book  "a  Punch  and  Judy  show  of  the  comedy  of 
civilization." 

The  story  of  "The  Demon  Pope"  is  based  upon  a  legend  of 
a  compact  between  a  Pope  and  the  devil.  It  is  believed  that 
Gerbert,  who  later  became  Pope  Silvester  II,  sold  his  soul  to 
Satan  in  order  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  physics,  arithmetic 
and  music.  The  fullest  account  of  this  legend  will  be  found 
in  J.  J.  Dollinger's  Fables  Respecting  the  Popes  of  the  Middle 
Ages  (Engl.  Translation,  1871).  The  History  of  the  Devil  and 
the  Idea  of  Evil  by  Paul  Carus  (1900)  contains  the  following 
passages  on  this  legend: 

[315] 


NOTES 


"An  English  Benedictine  monk,  William  of  Malmesbury,  says  of 
Pope  Sylvester  IL,  who  was  born  in  France,  his  secular  name  being 
Gerbert,  that  he  entered  the  cloister  when  still  a  boy.  Full  of  am- 
bition, he  flew  to  Spain  where  he  studied  astrology  and  magic  among 
the  Saracens.  There  he  stole  a  magic-book  from  a  Saracen  philosopher, 
and  returned  flying  through  the  air  to  France.  Now  he  opened  a 
school  and  acquired  great  fame,  so  that  the  king  himself  became  one 
of  his  disciples.  Then  he  became  Bishop  of  Rheims,  where  he  had  a 
magnificent  clock  and  an  organ  constructed.  Having  raised  the  treas- 
ure of  Emperor  Octavian  which  lay  hidden  in  a  subterrenean  vault  at 
Rome,  he  became  Pope.  As  Pope  he  manufactured  a  magic  head 
which  replied  to  all  his  questions.  This  head  told  him  that  he  would 
not  die  until  he  had  read  Mass  in  Jerusalem.  So  the  Pope  decided 
never  to  visit  the  Holy  Land.  But  once  he  fell  sick,  and,  asking  his 
magic  head,  was  informed  that  the  church's  name  in  which  he  had 
read  Mass  the  other  day  was  The  Holy  Cross  of  Jerusalem.'  The 
Pope  knew  at  once  that  he  had  to  die.  He  gathered  all  the  cardinals 
around  his  bed,  confessed  his  crime,  and,  as  a  penance,  ordered  his 
body  to  be  cut  up  alive,  and  the  pieces  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  church 
as  unclean. 

"Sigabert  tells  the  story  of  the  Pope's  death  in  a  different  way. 
There  is  no  penance  on  the  part  of  the  Pope,  and  the  Devil  takes  his 
soul  to  hell.  Others  tell  us  that  the  Devil  constantly  accompanied 
the  Pope  in  the  shape  of  a  black  dog,  and  this  dog  gave  him  the 
equivocal  prophecy. 

"The  historical  truth  of  the  story  is  that  Gerbert  was  unusually 
gifted  and  well  educated.  He  was  familiar  with  the  wisdom  of  the 
Saracens,  for  Borell,  Duke  of  Hither  Spain,  carried  him  as  a  youth  to 
his  country  where  he  studied  mathematics  and  astronomy.  He  came 
early  in  contact  with  the  most  influential  men  of  his  time,  and  became 
Pope  in  999.  He  was  liberal  enough  to  denounce  some  of  his  un- 
worthy predecessors  as  'monsters  of  more  than  human  iniquity,'  and 
as  'Antichrist,  sitting  in  the  temple  of  God  and  playing  the  part  of 
the  Devil'  (the  text  inadvertently  reads:  and  playing  the  part  of  God)  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  pursued  an  independent  and  vigorous  papal 
policy,  foreshadowing  in  his  aims  both  the  pretensions  of  Gregory  the 
Great  and  the  Crusades." 


[316] 


MADAM  LUCIFER 
BY  RICHARD   GARNETT 

Perhaps  the  most  fascinating — and  the  most  dangerous — 
character  in  the  infernal  world  is  this  Mater  tenebrarum — Our 
Lady  of  Darkness.  "A  lady  devil,"  says  Daniel  Defoe,  "is 
about  as  dangerous  a  creature  as  one  could  meet."  When 
Lucifer  fails  to  bring  a  man  to  his  fall,  he  hands  the  case  over 
to  his  better  half,  and  it  is  said  that  no  man  has  ever  escaped 
the  siren  seductions  of  this  Diabo-Lady.  A  poem.  The  Diaho- 
Lady,  or  a  Match  in  Hell,  appeared  in  London  in  1777. 

According  to  Teutonic  mythology,  this  diabolical  Madonna 
is  the  mother  or  the  grandmother  of  Satan.  The  mother  or 
grandmother  of  Grendel,  the  Anglo-Saxon  evil  demon,  became 
Satan's  mother  or  grandmother  by  adoption.  A  mother  was 
a  necessary  part  of  the  devil's  equipment.  Having  set  his 
mind  to  equal  Christ  in  every  detail  of  his  life,  Satan  had  to 
get  a  mother  somehow.  In  his  story  "The  Vision  Malefic" 
(1920)  Mr.  Huneker  tells  of  the  appearance  of  this  counter- 
feit Madonna  on  a  Christmas  Eve  to  the  organist  of  a  Roman 
Catholic  church  in  New  York.  Partly  out  of  devotion  to  her 
and  partly  also  because  he  could  not  obtain  the  sacramental 
blessing  of  the  Church,  Satan  was  forced  to  remain  single. 
In  the  story  "Devil-Puzzlers"  by  Fred  B.  Perkins  the  demon 
Apollyon  appears  as  an  old  bachelor.  "I  have  a  mother,  but 
no  wife,"  he  tells  the  charming  Mrs.  Hicok.  The  synagogue 
was  more  lenient  towards  the  devil.  The  rabbis  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony  for  the  diabolical  pair. 
According  to  Jewish  tradition  the  chief  of  the  fallen  angels 

[317] 


NOTES 


married  Lilith,  Adam's  first  wife.  She  is  said  to  have  been  in 
her  younger  days  a  woman  of  great  beauty,  but  with  a  heart 
of  ice.  Now,  of  course,  she  is  a  regular  hell-hag.  If  we  can 
trust  Rossett^,  who  painted  her  Majesty's  portrait,  she  still  is  a 
type  of  beauty  whose  fascination  is  fatal.  This  woman  was 
created  by  the  Lord  to  be  the  help-meet  of  Adam,  but  mere  man 
had  no  attraction  for  this  superwoman.  She  is  said  to  have 
started  the  fight  for  woman's  emancipation  from  man,  and 
contested  Adam's  right  to  be  the  head  of  the  family.  Their 
married  life  was  very  brief.  Their  incompatibility  of  charac- 
ter was  too  great.  One  fine  morning  Adam  found  that  his 
erstwhile  angelical  wife  had  deserted  him  and  run  away  with 
Lucifer,  whom  she  had  formerly  known  in  heaven. 

The  King-Devil  apparently  always  succeeded  somehow  or 
other  in  breaking  the  chains  with  which,  according  to  legend, 
he  had  repeatedly  been  bound  and  sealed  in  the  lowest  depths 
of  hell.  From  antediluvian  times  the  demons  appear  to  have 
been  attracted  by  the  daughters  of  men  and  to  have  come  fre- 
quently up  to  earth  to  pay  court  to  them.  The  only  devil  who 
must  always  remain  in  hell  is  the  stoker,  Brendli  by  name. 
The  fires  of  hell  must  not  be  allowed  to  go  out. 

The  anatomically  melancholic  Burton  also  tells  of  a  devil 
who  was  in  love  with  a  mortal  maiden.  Jacques  Cazotte  tells 
the  story  of  Beelzebub  as  a  woman  in  love  with  an  earth-born 
man. 


[318] 


LUCIFER 
BY  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

This  writer  has  a  great  sympathy  for  devil-lore,  and  many 
of  his  characters  show  the  cloven  hoof.  An  analyst  of  illu- 
sions, he  has  a  profound  interest  in  the  greatest  of  illusions. 
An  assailant  of  every  form  of  superstition,  he  has  a  tender 
affection  for  the  greatest  of  superstitions.  An  exponent  of  the 
radical  and  ironical  spirit  in  French  literature,  he  feels  ir- 
resistibly drawn  to  the  eternal  Denier  and  Mocker. 

The  story  of  the  Florentine  painter  Spinello  Spinelli,  to 
whom  Lucifer  appeared  in  a  dream  to  ask  him  in  what  place 
he  had  beheld  him  under  so  brutish  a  form  as  he  had  painted 
him,  is  told  in  Giorgio  Vasari's  Vite  de'  put  eccellenti  Pittori, 
Scultori,  ed  Architteti  (1550),  which  is  the  basis  of  the  history 
of  Italian  art.  It  was  treated  by  Barrili  in  his  novel  The 
Devil's  Portrait  (1882;  Engl.  tr.  1885),  from  whom  Anatole 
France  may  have  got  the  idea  for  his  story.  But  there  is  also 
a  mediaeval  French  legend  about  a  monk  {Du  moine  qui 
contrefyt  Vymage  du  Diahle,  qui  s'en  corouqa'),  who  was 
forced  by  the  indignant  devil  to  paint  him  in  a  less  ugly 
manner. 

The  devil  is  very  sensitive  in  regard  to  his  appearance.  On 
a  number  of  occasions  he  expressed  his  bitter  resentment  at  the 
efforts  of  a  certain  class  of  artists  to  represent  him  in  a  hideous 
form  (cf.  M.  D.  Conway,  Demonology  and  Devil-Lore). 
Daniel  Defoe  has  well  remarked  that  the  devil  does  not  think 
that  the  people  would  be  terrified  half  so  much  if  they  were  to 
converse  face  to  face  with  him.  "Really,"  this  biographer  of 
Satan  goes  on  to  say,  "it  were  enough  to  fright  the  devil  himself 
to  meet  himself  in  the  dark,  dressed  up  in  the  several  figures 

[319] 


NOTES 


which  imagination  has  formed  for  him  in  the  minds  of  men." 
It  makes  us,  indeed,  wonder  why  the  devil  was  always  repre- 
sented in  a  hideous  and  horrid  form.  Rationally  conceived, 
the  devil  should  by  right  be  the  most  fascinating  object  in 
creation.  One  of  his  essential  functions,  temptation,  is  de- 
stroyed by  his  hideousness.  To  do  the  work  of  temptation  a 
demon  might  be  expected  to  approach  his  intended  victim  in 
the  most  fascinating  form  he  could  command.  This  fact  is  an 
additional  proof  that  the  devil  was  for  the  early  Christians  but 
the  discarded  pagan  god,  whom  they  wished  to  represent  as 
ugly  and  as  repulsive  as  they  could. 

The  earliest  known  representation  of  the  devil  in  human 
form  is  found  on  an  ivory  diptych  of  the  time  of  Charles  the 
Bald  (9th  century).  Many  artists  have  since  then  painted  his 
Majesty's  portrait.  Schongauer,  Diirer,  Michelangelo,  Titian, 
Raphael,  Rubens,  Poussin,  Van  Dyck,  Breughel  and  other 
masters  on  canvas  vied  with  each  other  to  present  us  with  a 
real  likeness  of  Satan.  None  has,  however,  equalled  the  power 
of  Gustavo  Dore  in  the  portrayal  of  the  Diabolical.  This 
Frenchman  was  at  his  best  as  an  artist  of  the  infernal  (Dante's 
"Great  Dis"  and  Milton's  "Satan  at  the  gates  of  Hell"). 

Modern  artists  frequently  represent  the  devil  as  a  woman. 
Felicien  Rops,  Max  Klinger,  and  Franz  Stuck  may  be  cited  as 
illustrations.  Apparently  the  devil  has  in  modern  times 
changed  sex  as  well  as  custom  and  costume.  Victor  Hugo  has 
said: 

**Dieu  s*est  fait  homme;   soit. 

Le  diable  s'est  fait  femme." 

"Lucifer,"  as  well  as  the  other  stories  which  form  the  volume 
The  Well  of  St.  Claire,  is  told  by  the  abbe  Jerome  Coignard  on 
the  edge  of  Santa  Clara's  well  at  Siena.  The  book  was  first 
published  serially  in  the  Echo  de  Paris  (1895).  It  has  just 
been  rendered  into  Spanish  (El  Pozo  de  Santa  Clara). 

[320] 


THE   DEVIL 
BY  MAXIM  GORKY 

This  story  shows  reminiscences  of  Le  Sage's  Le  Diable 
boiteux.  It  will  be  recalled  that  Asmodeus  also  lifts  the  roofs 
of  the  houses  of  Madrid  and  exhibits  their  interior  to  his  bene- 
factor. 

The  fate  of  a  Russian  author  was,  indeed,  a  very  sad  affair. 
"In  all  lands  have  the  writers  drunk  of  life's  cup  of  bitterness, 
have  they  been  bruised  by  life's  sharp  corners  and  torn  by  life's 
pointed  thorns.  Chill  penury,  public  neglect,  and  ill  health 
have  been  the  lot  of  many  an  author  in  countries  other  than 
Russia.  But  in  the  land  of  the  Czars  men  of  letters  had  to  face 
problems  and  perils  which  were  peculiarly  their  own,  and 
which  have  not  been  duplicated  in  any  other  country  on  the 
globe.  .  .  .  Every  man  of  letters  was  under  suspicion.  The 
government  of  Russia  treated  every  author  as  its  natural  enemy, 
and  made  him  feel  frequently  the  weight  of  its  heavy  hand. 
The  wreath  of  laurels  on  the  brow  of  almost  every  poet  was 
turned  by  the  tyrants  of  his  country  into  a  crown  of  thorns." 
(From  the  present  writer's  essay  "The  Gloom  and  Glory  of 
Russian  Literature"  in  The  Open  Court  for  July,  1918.) 


[321] 


THE   DEVIL  AND   THE   OLD   MAN 

BY  JOHN   MASEFIELD 

POSTCRIPT 

For  the  benefit  of  the  gentle  reader,  who  is  about  to  shed  a 
tear  or  two  over  the  demise  of  the  devil,  the  following  episode 
from  Anatole  France's  My  Friend's  Book  is  retold  here: 

Pierre  Noziere  (Anatole  France)  takes  his  baby-girl  to  a 
Punch  and  Judy  show,  the  culmination  point  of  which  always 
consists  of  the  duel  to  the  death  between  Punch  and  the  Devil. 
The  terrible  battle  ends,  of  course,  with  the  death  of  the  Devil. 
The  spectators  applaud  the  heroic  act  of  Punch,  but  Pierre 
Noziere  is  not  happy  over  the  result  of  the  fight.  He  thinks 
that  it  is  rather  a  pity  that  the  Devil  has  been  slain.  Paying  no 
heed  to  Suzanne  sitting  by  his  side,  he  goes  on  musing: 

"The  Devil  being  dead,  good-bye  to  sin!  Perhaps  Beauty,  the  Devil's 
ally,  would  have  to  go,  too.  Perhaps  we  should  never  more  behold  the 
flowers  that  enchant  us,  and  the  eyes  for  love  of  which  we  would  lay 
down  our  lives.  What,  if  that  is  so,  what  in  the  world  would  become 
of  us?  Should  we  still  be  able  to  practise  virtue?  I  doubt  it.  Punch 
did  not  sufficiently  bear  in  mind  that  Evil  is  the  necessary  counter- 
part of  Good,  as  darkness  is  of  light,  that  virtue  wholly  consists  of 
effort,  and  that  if  there  is  no  more  any  Devil  to  fight  against,  the 
Saints  will  remain  as  much  out  of  work  as  the  Sinners.  Life  will  be 
mortally  dull.  I  tell  you  that  when  he  killed  the  Devil,  Punch 
committed  an  act  of  grave  imprudence. 

"Well,  Pulchinello  came  on  and  made  his  bow,  the  curtain  fell,  and 
all  the  little  boys  and  girls  went  home;  but  still  I  sat  on  deep  in  medita- 
tion. Mam'zelle  Suzanne,  perceiving  my  thoughtful  mien,  concluded 
that  I  was  in  trouble.  .  .  .  Very  gently  and  tenderly  she  takes  hold  of 
my  hand  and  asks  me  why  I  am  unhappy.    I  confess  that  I  am  sorry 

[322] 


NOTES 


that  Punch  has  slain  the  Devil.    Then  she  puts  her  little  arms  round 
my  neck,  and  putting  her  lips  to  my  ears,  she  whispers: 

"'I  tell  you  somefin:    Punch,  he  killed  the  nigger,  but  he  has  not 
killed  him  for  good.' " 


[3231 


INDEX 

[List  of  authors  and  titles  contained  in  the  Notes.  Names 
are  alphabeted  after  omission  of  de  or  von,  and  titles  are 
entered  without  their  initial  article.  Each  title  is  followed  by 
the  author's  name  in  parentheses.] 

Ambrosio,  or  the  Monk  (Lewis),  296 

Anathema  (Andreev),  286 

Anatomy  of  Melancholy  (Burton),  318 

Andreev,  Leonid,  286 

Artificial  Paradises  (Baudelaire),  304 

Auswahl  aus  des  Teufels  Papieren  (Richter),  286 

Autobiography  of  Satan  (Beard),  286 

Barham,  Richard  Harris  (307) 

Barrili,  Anton  Giulio,  319 

Baudelaire,  Charles  Pierre,  279,  296,  303-06 

Beard,  J.  R.,  286 

Belphagor,  or  the  Marriage  of  the  Devil  (Machiavelli),  281- 

83,  301 
Belphagor  (an  English  play),  281 
Betrogener  Teufel  (Riickert),  313 
Bon-Bon  (Poe),  295-97 
Bourges,  Elemir,  315 
Brevio,  Giovanni,  282 
Browning,  Robert,  280,  303 
Burton,  Richard,  318 

Caballero,  Fernan,  300-02 
Caesarius  of  Heisterbach,  296-97 

[325] 


INDEX 


Campe,  Joachim  Heinrich,  300 

Carus,  Paul,  315 

Cazotte,  Jacques,  318 

Chamisso,  Adalbert,  297 

Chappuys,  Gabriel,  281 

Chateaubriand,  Francois  Auguste  Rene,  283 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  283 

Christliche  Mystik  (Gorres),  299 

Conway,  Moncure  Daniel,  298,  318 

Crepuscule  des  Dieux  (Bourges),  315 

Cumont,  Franz,  315 

Daborne,  Robert,  281 
Daniel  and  the  Devil  (Field),  294 
Danish  Legends  (Thiele),  313 
Dante  Alighieri,  320 
Daudet,  Alphonse,  307-08 
Defoe,  Daniel,  317,  319 
Demon  Pope  (Garnett),  315-16 
Demonology  and  Devil-Lore  (Conway),  298,  319 
Demonology  and  Witchcraft  (W.  Scott) ,  285,  296 
Deulin,  Charles,  311-12 
Devil  (Gorky),  304,  321 

Devil;  his  Origin,  Greatness  and  Decadence  (Reville),  309 
Devil  and  his  Dame  (Houghton),  281 
Devil  and  the  Old  Man  (Masefield),  322-23 
Devil  and  Tom  Walker  (Irving),  284-85 
Devil  in  a  Nunnery  (Mann) ,  279-80 
Devil  in  Germany  (Freytag),  293 
Devil  in  the  Belfry  (Poe),  301 
Devil  is  an  Ass  (Jonson),  281 
Devil-Puzzlers  (Perkins),  306,  309-10,  317 
DeviFs  Fiddle,  279 

Devil's  Mother-in-Law  (Caballero),  300-02 

[326] 


INDEX 


DeviVs  Portrait  (Barrili),  319 

DeviVs  Round  (Deulin),  311-12 

DeviVs  Violin  (Webster),  279 

DeviVs  Wager  (Thackeray),  290-91 

Diable  (Baudelaire),  306 

Diahle  au  cafe  (Menard),  305 

Diable  hoiteux  (Le  Sage),  300,  314,  321 

Diablo  cojuelo  (Guevara),  300 

Diabo-Lady,  or  a  Match  in  Hell,  317 

Dialect  and  Folk-Lore  of  Northampshire  (Sternberg),  313 

Dialogus  Miraculorum  (Caesarius),  297 

Dieux  ont  soif  (France),  307 

Dollinger,  J.  J.,  315 

Du  moine  qui  countrefyt  Vymage  du  Diable,  319 

Dunlop,  J.  C,  282 

Elixir  of  the  Reverend  Pere  Gaucher  (Daudet) ,  307 

En  Route  (Huysmans),  280 

Evangelium  Nicodemi,  283 

Evenings  on  a  Farm  near  Dikanka  (Gogol) ,  289 

Fables  Respecting  the  Popes  of  the  Middle  Ages  (Dollinger), 

315 
Fairy  Tales  (Grimm),  313 
Faust  (Goethe),  280 
Faust  (Lenau),  279 
Faustus  (Marlowe),  305 
Field,  Eugene,  294 

Fisherman  and  his  Soul  (Wilde),  297 
Flaubert,  Gustave,  313 
Flowers  of  Evil  (Baudelaire),  303 
France,  Anatole,  307,  319-20,  322-23 
Frazer,  James  George,  289,  301,  304 
Freytag,  Gustav,  293 

[327] 


INDEX 


From  the  Memoirs  of  Solan  (Hauff),  286-88 
Fulwell,  Ulpian,  281 

Goethe,  Wolfgang,  280,  284 

Gogol,  Nikolai  Vasilevich,  289 

Golden  Bough  (Frazer),  289,  304 

Gorky,  Maxim,  304,  321 

Gorres,  Joseph,  299 

Gotterddmmerung  (Wagner),  315 

Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon  (Fulwell),  281 

Grimm,  Jacob,  296,  313 

Guevara,  Luis  Velez,  300 

Hauff,  Wilhelm,  286-88 

Heine,  Heinrich,  290 

Henslowe,  Philip,  281 

Herbert,  George,  294 

Hill,  Rowland,  279 

History  of  Fiction  (Dunlop),  282 

History  of  the  Devil  and  the  Idea  of  Evil  (Carus),  315-16 

History  of  the  French  Novel  (Saintsbury),  290-91,  292 

Hoffmann,  E.  Th.  A.,  286 

Homme  qui  vendit  son  dme  au  Diahle  (Veber),  306 

Horace  (Quintus  Horatius  Flaccus),  291 

Horla  (Maupassant),  314 

Houghton,  P.  M.,  281 

Hugo,  Victor,  320 

Huneker,  James,  279,  303,  317 

Huysmans,  Joris  Karl,  280,  306 

Ingoldsby  Legends  or  Mirth  and  Marvels  (Barham),  307 
Irving,  Washington,  284-85,  294 
Italian  Novelists  (Roscoe),  282 


[328] 


INDEX 


Jarintzow,  Mme.,  289 
Jonson,  Ben,  281,  305 

Klopstock,  Friedrich  Gottlieb,  301 

La-Bas  (Huysmans),  306 

La  Fontaine,  Jean,  281 

Lavigne,  Germond,  302 

Legend  of  Mont  St.-Michel  (Maupassant),  313-14 

Lenau,  Nikolaus,  279 

Le  Sage,  Alain,  300,  314,  321 

Lewis,  ("Monk")  Matthew,  296 

Lettres  de  mon  Moulin  (Daudet),  307 

Little  Key  of  Rabbi  Solomon,  301 

Lucifer  (France),  319-20 

Machiavel  and  the  Devil  (Daborae  and  Henslowe),  281 

Machiavelli,  Niccolo,  281-83,  301 

Madam  Lucifer  (Gamett),  317-18 

Man  and  Superman  (Shaw),  305 

Mann,  Francis  Oscar,  279-80,  308 

Marlowe,  Christopher,  305 

Masefield,  John,  322-23 

Maupassant,  Guy,  307,  313-14 

Mediaeval  Mind  (Taylor) ,  293 

Memoires  du  Diable  (Soulie),  286,  292 

Memoirs  of  Satan  (Hauff),  286-88 

Menard,  Louis,  305 

Milton,  John,  283,  320 

My  Friend's  Book  (France),  322-23 

Nerval  [Labrunie],  Gerard,  279,  305 
Notre  Coeur  (Maupassant),  314 
Nouvelles  andalouses  (Caballero),  301 

[329] 


INDEX 


Origin  of  German  Carnival  Comedy  (Rudwin),  283,  312 

Painter's  Bargain  (Thackeray),  290 

Paris  Sketch  Book  (Thackeray),  290 

Parlement  of  Devils,  283 

Parlement  of  Foules,  283 

Parliament  of  Sprites  (Chatterton),  283 

Peabody,  Josephine  Preston,  280 

Perkins,  Frederick  Beecher,  306,  309-10,  317 

Peter  Schlemihl  (Chamisso),  297 

Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  (Browning),  280 

Piper  (Peabody),  280 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  292,  295-97,  301,  303 

Poemes  en  Prose  (Baudelaire),  306 

Pope's  Mule  (Daudet),  307 

Pozo  de  Santa  Clara  (France),  320 

Prince  des  Sots  (Nerval),  305 

Printer's  Devil,  289-99 

Rabelais,  Frangois,  313 

Reville,  Albert,  309 

Riche,  Barnabe,  281 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  286 

Robinson  der  J  lingers  (Campe),  300 

Roscoe,  Thomas,  282 

Roskoff,  Georg,  309 

Riickert,  Friedrich,  313 

Rudwin,  Maximilian  J.,  283,  306,  312,  321 

Russian  Poets  and  Poems  (Jarintzow),  289 

Sachs,  Hans,  281 
St.  John's  Eve  (Gogol),  289 
Saintsbury,  George,  290,  292 
Sansovino,  Francesco,  281 

[330] 


INDEX 


Satan's  Diary  (Andreev),  286 

Satanism  of  Huysmans  (Rudwin),  306 

Satires  (Horace),  291 

Schmidt,  Julian,  300 

Scott,  Walter,  285,  296,  305 

Selections  from  the  Devil's  Papers  (Richter),  286 

Shakespeare,  William,  295 

Shaw,  George  Bernard,  305 

Shipley,  Joseph  T.,  306 

Sonata  del  Diavolo  (Tartini),  279 

Sonate  du  Diahle  (Nerval),  279 

Soulie,  Frederic,  286,  292 

Spanish  Fairy  Tales  (Caballero),  302 

Stael,  Madame,  284 

Sternberg,  T.,  313 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  284 

Straparola,  Giovan-Francesco,  281 

Supreme  Sin  (Huneker),  279 

Symons,  Arthur,  315 

Tales  from  Twelve  Tongues  (Garnett  ?),  302 
Tartini,  Giuseppe,  279 
Tasso,  Torquato,  283 
Taylor,  H.  D.,  293 

Temptation  of  St.  Anthony  (Flaubert),  313 
Tentations  ou  Eros,  Plutus  et  la  Gloire  (Baudelaire),  279,  296 
Teufel  in  Berlin  (Hoffmann),  286 
Teufel  mit  der  Geige  (Gengenbach),  279 
Teutonic  Mythology  (Grimm),  296 
Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  290-94 
Thiele,  Just  Mathias,  313 
Thrawn  Janet  (Stevenson),  284 
Three  Low  Masses  (Daudet),  307-08 
Twilight  of  the  Gods  (Garnett),  315 

[331] 


INDEX 


Undying,  Fire  (Wells),  305 

Vasari,  Giorgio,  310 
Veber,  Pierre,  306 
Vinculum  Spirituum,  301 
Violon  du  Diable,  279 
Vision  Malefic  (Huneker),  317 
Vision  of  Saint  Simon  of  Blewberry  (Mann),  308 
Vite  de'  piii  eccellenti  Pittori,  Scultori,  ed  Architteti  (Vasari) , 
319 

Wagner,  Richard,  315 

Wandering  Willie's  Tale  (Scott),  305 

Webster,  Benjamin,  279 

Well  of  St.  Claire  (France),  320 

Wells,  H.  G.,  305 

Wilde,  Oscar,  297 

Wintermdrchen  (Klopstock),  301 


THE  END 


[332] 


LOAN  DEPT. 


^(E4555sl0)476B 


r^neral  Library     , 


ft 


GEHERALLlBnABY-UX.  BERKELEY 


V 


BDQai3fibM4 


